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1 

1 






For BETTER For WORSE 




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♦* 



For Better For Worse 


A NOVEL 


BY 

Martin J. Scott, S.J. 

I r. 

Author of '^Mother Machree ' 



0 



New York, Cincinnati, Chicago 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

Publishers of Benziger’s Magazine 

1923 















Copyright 1923, by Benziger Brothers 



Printed tn the United States of America 


OCT 23 73 


©CU759511 


For BETTER for WORSE 


Part I 
I 

T hey were preparing to put on 
“Pinafore.” It was necessary to 
have two choruses, one of men and 
one of women, besides the principals. It was 
easy enough to get girls, as the Sodality num¬ 
bered some seven hundred, among whom 
were many fine voices. The difficulty was 
with the boys. 

There were lots of young fellows in the 
different organizations of St. Leonard’s par¬ 
ish, but they belonged to regiments with ob¬ 
ligatory attendance at drills, or clubs, or 
worked at night, or, unlike the girls, did not 
care for theatricals. Father Boone, who was 
the director of the Sodality, came to their res¬ 
cue. He knew most of the young men of 
the parish and their capabilities. Sending 
word to them personally, he soon had the 
required number for the performance. 

[5] 


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One of these was Jeremiah Burke. He had 
never been in theatricals before. Naturally 
shy, the stage environment made him more 
so. The coach was trying out the boys for 
the different parts, and when it came to 
Jerry’s turn, he was positively foolish in his 
timidity. The rest of the fellows enjoyed 
a laugh at his expense, which only increased 
his embarrassment. 

Finally in desperation, he struck a heroic 
attitude, and, in mock solemnity, made a 
grand salute to the crowd. Seeing that he 
created a laugh, and thinking that if he made 
a complete fool of himself, they would drop 
him and bother him no more, he repeated, in 
the posture of a grand opera singer, a refrain 
from the chorus which he had heard them 
rehearsing. 

“By Jove,” exclaimed the coach to him¬ 
self, “he’s the very man for the leading rolej 
he has everything.” 

The crowd caught its breath for a second, 
and then roared and clapped applause. Poor 
Jerry stood there, convinced he had made an 
ass of himself. The crowd gathered round 
him. 

“Good boy, Jerry!” 

[ 6 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“YouVe foxy, old boy, to bluff us that you 
couldn’t do anything.” 

“Grand opera for yours, Jerry.” 

He stood amazed. He was convinced that 
they had taken their cue from him, and that 
they were paying him back in his own coin. 

“Oh, quit it, fellows 5 ‘even Stephen,’ you 
know.” 

But they didn’t quit it. Instead, they en¬ 
circled him and insisted on a further sample 
of his talent. Jerry had never sung in his 
life, except as one of a crowd. He knew 
that many in the gathering around him were 
good singers, and fancied that they were all 
conspiring to make a fool of him. 

“That’ll do now, it’s gone far enough!” 

“Encore, Jerry, encore!” came from sev¬ 
eral at once. 

He jammed on his hat, plowed his way 
through the crowd, and was making for the 
door. The coach was before him. 

“Look here, old man, you have us wrong. 
We’re not jollying you. You have the goods, 
and if you don’t know it, it’s time you did.’^ 

Jerry looked at him, dumbfounded. 

“What, do you mean to say that I’m one 
of those warbler fellows?” 

[7] 


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‘‘Warbler plus—^you’ve got everything, ex¬ 
cept brass, and we’ll try to give you that.” 

“You’re talking to the wrong fellow, boss j 
you’d better see an oculist.” 

“I’m talking to you, Jeremiah Burke, and 
my eyes are all right, and my ears too, and 
I want to tell you you’re a big chump if you 
don’t listen and take a tip from one who 
knows.” 

This was said with such seriousness that 
a light began to shine for Jerry. The coach 
went on: 

“I’m a hired man here—my business is to 
put on a good show. I never saw you before. 
I didn’t even know your name until a few 
moments ago when I heard Father Boone 
say that he never knew that Jeremiah Burke 
had such a wonderful voice and manner.” 

“Did Father Boone say that?” 

“He did.” 

“Come with me to Father Boone.” 

They did not have to go to the priest, for 
he was on his way to them, having heard the 
echoes of the conversation. As he approached 
them, he put out his hand to Jerry: 

“Jeremiah, you’ve given all of us a shock, a 

[ 8 ] 


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pleasant shock. None of us ever imagined 
you had such a voice. Now all you have to 
do is to forget yourself, as you did when you 
were fooling, and you’ll make a star.” 

Jerry pinched himself to see if he was 
awake. Then he remembered that his father 
had been a member of the church choir, and 
that he himself in his younger days did have 
a voice, as he sang in the chorus in the school 
entertainments. His father had become an 
invalid before Jerry had graduated from 
grammar school, and he had had to go to 
work immediately after graduation to help 
support the family. 

^^Do you really mean it. Father, that I have 
the makings of a singer?” 

“I do, Jerry.” 

Jerry laughed and laughed. 

“To think of me being a singer!” 

And again he laughed. His laugh was so 
genuine that it was catching. Father Boone 
found himself shaking with mirth. 

He was still laughing as he said: “Be a 
good boy, now, and come back. They are 
all waiting for you. I told them Pd do my 
best to bring you back, and you don’t want 

[9] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

them to say that I failed, do you, Jerry?” 

^^All right, Father, if it’s to oblige you, 
Pll face the music.” 

He faced the music. The result was that, 
when the cast was completed, Jerry was as¬ 
signed the leading role. 

It made him quite an idol, especially to the 
girls in the cast. It was amusing to note how 
he rose in their admiration when he became 
the chief character. Moreover, the character 
he impersonated, by degrees became identi¬ 
fied with him, elevating him to the realms of 
the ideal. No wonder that forlorn and other 
maidens shot yearning glances at him! Jerry 
was impervious to it all. He never noticed 
their enticements. He was blind to their 
attractions, apparently. 

Felice Jordan was one of the girls in the 
chorus. Her voice was not much, but passed 
in a crowd. Her personality more than made 
up for any deficiency of voice. She was the 
life of the crowd. After every rehearsal, she 
had numerous offers from the young men to 
see her home, an honor she conferred impar¬ 
tially, it would seem. 

The only one who never offered was Jerry. 
He never asked any girl. He went home 

[ 10 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

alone, or with some of the boys. Even the 
leading lady, who gave him many hints to 
escort her home, did not succeed. The girls 
were all talking about his exclusiveness, or 
bashfulness, or whatever it was, but in a pleas¬ 
ant way. They all liked him. 

Usually after rehearsal they danced for a 
while before going home. Jerry never 
danced, but he liked to look on. Felice had 
an abundance of partners for these dances. 
No sooner was a dance over than a young 
man was at her side for the next one. 

Several times she caught Jerry’s eye fol¬ 
lowing her as she glided over the floor. Of 
course she did not let on that she noticed 
this, but she was nevertheless quite flattered 
by it. Jerry, likewise, perceived that Felice, 
no matter when he looked at her, nor where 
she happened to be, seemed to be just turning 
her eyes from him, as if she were caught do¬ 
ing something she wanted to conceal. How¬ 
ever, he was so diffident that it never oc¬ 
curred to him that she was noticing him par¬ 
ticularly. Still, there was a vague feeling in 
his mind that somehow she was interested in 
him. 

Felice, although courted by nearly all the 

[ 11 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

young men, gave her heart to none. She 
enjoyed jollying and dancing, was a good 
mixer, and was always the center of fun, yet 
she shared in all this in a sort of impersonal 
way. 

But her attitude toward Jerry was not im¬ 
personal. Her feeling toward him was some¬ 
thing new and altogether different to what 
she experienced toward others. It left her 
disturbed, restless, yearning, craving for 
something which only he seemed able to give. 
Also, she thought she could give him some¬ 
thing he needed. He was so serious, so bash¬ 
ful. He looked lost in a crowd. She felt at 
home in a crowd. How she would like to 
go to him, and make him feel at ease. But 
he was so reserved, he refused all advances, 
and she knew he would avoid her altogether 
if she once tried to impose herself on him. 
All the while, Jerry took every occasion, with¬ 
out being noticed, to feast his eyes on her. 

Eventually they began to be conscious of 
each other. Never a word was spoken, but 
there was an instinctive understanding, seem- 
between them. They flashed wireless 
messages to each other. Their eyes were 
radio stations. This went on for some weeks, 

[ 12 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


yet when they met, before or after rehearsal, 
it was just a formal: ‘‘Good day. Miss Jor¬ 
dan,” “How do you do, Mr. Burke?” 

It was strange that Felice, who was friends 
with everybody, became suddenly very re¬ 
served and frigid in presence of Jerry. For 
the world she would not have him know that 
he meant anything to her, and yet she would 
have given the world if she could tell him 
all he meant to her. How she wanted to 
speak her heart to him! And how she kept 
from giving the slightest indication of her 
desire! 

And he? He, poor boy, as the days rolled 
on, and the wireless was busier and busier, 
thought of nothing but Felice, saw only Fe¬ 
lice, wanted only Felice. But let her know! 
He would be cut to pieces first. Even after 
a very cordial wireless when they happened 
to meet, he was an iceberg—externally. The 
freezing process on both sides finally became 
noticeable. 

“I say,” whispered May Carney to Felice, 
on the way home after rehearsal one night, 
“what’s up between you and Jerry?” 

Felice, believing her secret was known, and 
that May was teasing her about her love af- 

[13] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

fair, blushed dreadfully. She was so con¬ 
fused that she was unable to utter a word. 
She was thankful it was dark, so that May 
could not read her face. 

While she was hesitating what to say, May 
went on: don’t think it’s at all nice, Felice, 
the way you snub Jerry. If you did it to any 
of the other fellows it wouldn’t be so bad, 
but he is such a sensitive and shy chap, it’s a 
shame to add to his embarrassment by giving 
him the icy stare every time you meet him. 
What has he done?” 

Oh, the relief to Felice! So her secret was 
not out. She was thought to be not only in¬ 
different but hostile to Jerry. Good! 

“What do you mean. May? I don’t know 
what you’re referring to.” 

“Well, if you don’t, for goodness’ sake, 
then, have a little manners, and when bashful 
Jerry meets you, don’t stiffen up like a lamp- 
post, for anybody can see that he feels it 
dreadfully. To-night when you said: ‘Good 
evening, Mr. Burke,’ in a frigid and unusual 
way, thinking no doubt you were funny in 
being formal with one of the boys, he turned 
scarlet and actually trembled. That’s not 
nice, especially with him. The other fel- 

[14] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

lows wouldn’t mind, they would laugh it off, 
but he is different. He is so serious.” 

All the while Felice’s heart was thumping 
like a hammer. She felt that her face must 
be crimson, it burned so. How thankful 
she was that it was dark! For if May once 
suspected that she was soft on Jerry, her life 
would be one continuous plague. May was 
a dreadful tease, and what she would do if 
she guessed her secret, must be left to the 
imagination. 

Felice, perceiving that May was entirely off 
the track, decided to put her further off. 

“Well, why shouldn’t I be formal with a 
little stuck-up like him, who holds his nose 
in the air to everybody?” 

“Why, Felice, you know that’s not so: 
Jerry is bashful, that’s all. He doesn’t speak 
to any of the girls. I’m sure he’d make a 
tremendous hit if he’d only mix with the 
bunch. You see, he’s different from the other 
fellows. There’s more to him. See how he 
jumped into the leading part and made a 
success of it. And besides, the fellows think 
a lot of him. That’s a good sign. Of course 
you don’t care for a fellow’s feelings, be¬ 
cause all the boys are running after you.” 

[ 15 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“Don’t be so hard on me, May. I’ll try 
to be nice to Sir Bashful for your sake.” 
“Here’s your corner. Good night, Felice.” 
“Bye-bye, May.’^ 


[ 16 ] 


II 


T hat same night, Jerry was walk¬ 
ing home with Fred Harmon. 

“I say, old man, you are begin¬ 
ning to put on airs. Big head! You are giv¬ 
ing the girls the stony stare now. We’ll lose 
some of them if you don’t come down to 
earth.” 

‘‘What do you mean, Fred?” 

“What do I mean? Oh, come off. You’re 
too stuck up. Thaw out, man, thaw out!” 
“Bless me, if I get you, Fred.” 

“Well, if you don’t, you ought to. Why 
don’t you have a word or a smile for the girls 
when you meet them?” 

“Well, just what do you mean? I thought 
I was all right to them. Of course, I’m not 
much of a mixer with the ladies, but a fellow 
can’t help that.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to be a mixer to be 
decent to them. Now there’s Felice Jordan. 
She’s the j oiliest of the crowd, always good- 
natured, popular with everybody, all the fel¬ 
lows crazy over her, and when she came along 
this evening, you turned into a pillar of ice. 

[ 17 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

NoWj if you don’t care for a girl, it’s no rea¬ 
son you should freeze her with indifference.” 

The pillar of ice was just then a volcano 
interiorly. Jerry thought of the great effort 
he made at suppression when he saw Felice 
approaching. How he yearned to greet her 
with affectionate words as she drew near! 
Yet how tremendously he exerted his will 
power to appear uninterested! 

He was now all agitation. He was thank¬ 
ful that the night concealed his confusion 
from his friend. He was too nervous to 
speak. 

‘‘Well, Jerry, take a tip from a friend, and 
thaw out. I don’t mean to Felice only, but to 
all of them. They like you, I’m sure. Give 
them a chance to be friendly.” 

By now, Jerry found his tongue. 

“Thanks, thanks very much, old man, for 
the hint, but I’m almost afraid it’s wasted. 
You know, it’s hard to change a man’s nature. 
But I’ll try to be less—less—less formal.” 

“All right, Jerry, old man. Here’s my ho¬ 
tel, good night.” 

Harmon turned into his “hotel,” a seven- 
story tenement, his “suite” being on the sev¬ 
enth floor. 


[ 18 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Jerry continued homeward, with only one 
thing filling his thoughts, Felice. 

Why did she freeze up when he drew 
near, after shooting so many glances at him 
all the evening—at a distance? Why did he 
freeze up after all the messages he had flashed 
to her—at a distance? Did she feel toward 
him as he did toward her? The very thought 
of it threw him into a delirium of joy. Was 
coldness a symptom of love—at a distance? 
If he loved her, and he knew he did, why 
did he enclose his affection in a refrigerator 
on her approach? 

It must be his bashfulness. People told 
him he was bashful. But Felice was not 
bashful. Why did she congeal when they 
met to-night, especially after all the warm 
messages she wired him during the evening? 
Or was he mistaken? Was she just trifling 
with him? That must be it. She was known 
as a tease. She had her pick of all the fel¬ 
lows. Why should she give a thought to 
him, except to jolly him? 

That was it. There was no doubt of it. 
Now he blushed for very chagrin. So that’s 
the way women enjoy themselves, breaking 
hearts! He had heard of women doing such 

[19] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

thingS) but had thought it a slander. And 
now he himself verified it in his own case. 
The only girl he was ever attracted to was 
making sport of him. If it were not that 
the operetta was so far advanced and the per¬ 
formance so near at hand, he would have sent 
in his resignation. 

How could he ever face that flirt again! 
Flirt she was, worse than a flirt. A flirt, after 
all, means well, she desires to please, to at¬ 
tract. But this girl took pleasure in annoy¬ 
ing, embarrassing, torturing. She enticed 
him—at a distance—snubbed him near by. 

And to think that he was caught! Oh, he 
knew it. He knew that she realized that she 
was leading him on—at a distance, only to 
scorn him when he looked for a bit of recog¬ 
nition when he was near. But she did not 
even look his way when she said coldly: 
“Good evening, Mr. Burke.” Cat! 

“Yes, that’s what they are—cats! I don’t 
think I can face that crowd again. I’ll re¬ 
sign. They’ll all know she was making sport 
of me. To be taken in by a silly girl like 
her! Yes, I’ll resign. 

“No, I can’t do that. It’s too late for that. 
It would put Father Boone in an awful hole. 

[ 20 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

I don’t want to punish him and the crowd for 
the pranks of a heartless girl. But I don’t 
know how I’ll face the music. I’d rather 
be hit over the head with a club than be in 
the same room with that girl again. 

‘‘Well, I’ll fix her. From this on, I won’t 
know she exists. If she stands right before 
me, I won’t see her. Let the fellows say I’m 
stuck up if they want to. I’d rather that, 
than let her think I cared a snap of my finger 
for her. 

“And yet, I do care for her, the little imp. 
When she’s at the rehearsal, I seem to have 
an audience before me. I wonder if she 
really cares for me, and is only timid like 
myself when we are near each other. No, it 
can’t be, she’s not that kind. She’s ‘hail fel¬ 
low well met’ with everyone.” 

Thus reflecting, thus doubting, thus tor¬ 
turing himself, he reached home. As he as¬ 
cended the stairs to his flat, he longed to talk 
it over with someone. But he would die 
first. He could do anything but that. He 
would be laughed at. He found ridicule the 
hardest thing to bear, except being in love—■ 
at a distance. 


[ 21 ] 


Ill 


O N THE way to the next rehearsal, 
Felice was serious. Rarely was she 
serious. This new thing which had 
come into her life was so strange. She longed 
for Jerry, she felt the need of him. Did he 
know she cared for him? She would not 
have him know, for all the wealth of Man¬ 
hattan. He was in her thoughts day and 
night. All her plans seemed to circle round 
him. She longed to give him something, 
something of her very self. She desired to 
tell him that her heart went out to him, and 
that she craved for a place in his heart. But 
she could not do that. How he would de¬ 
spise her if she did! 

And yet there must be some way out of it. 
This simply could not go on. It was wearing 
her out. But she would not be without this 
pleasant pain. It was torturing her with ex¬ 
quisite sensations. So this was love! Long¬ 
ing, languishing, agreeable suffering! 

She determined to be absolutely indifferent 
when she met him. If he cared for her, he 

[ 22 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

would have to show it. Even if he showed 
his love, she would not recognize it. She 
loved him so much she wanted him to suffer 
for her sake, so that his love would be greater. 
Oh, if he only suffered for her as she was 
suffering for him! 

Jerry was early at rehearsal, earlier than 
usual. He was moody. He tried hard to 
enter into conversation with the few who were 
present. r^His mind was elsewhere. There 
was only one real being in the world—Felice. 
The rest were all shadows. Oh, if she had 
for him but a spark of his sentiments for her! 

But of course she hadn’t. She had too 
many admirers to notice him. After all, he 
was only a salesman. It is true he was get¬ 
ting good pay, and, besides, had an interest in 
the business, which was growing all the while. 
But even so, what was he, compared to some 
of the other fellows who were paying her 
attention? He must get her out of his 
thoughts. What there was no hope of ob¬ 
taining was folly to strive for. It was wear¬ 
ing him out. His mind was not on his work, 
either in business or at rehearsal. It was 
Felice, all Felice, nothing but Felice. It must 
stop. He must get back to normal. He was 

[ 23 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

happy before he knew her, happy and satis¬ 
fied. She was a disturbing element in his 
life. Out she must go. 

^^Good evening, boys!” 

In his reverie he had not noticed the ar¬ 
rival of Felice, who greeted the crowd laugh¬ 
ingly. From several quarters, the greeting 
was returned. 

^^Good evening, Felice.” 

“You’re early, Felice.” 

“Where’s May, Felice?” 

To all of which she gave that charming, 
laughing, tantalizing reply of hers: “Well, 
how are all the naughty boys to-night?” 

Her bantering reply went through Jerry 
like a dagger. He was sure now, that she 
never gave him a thought. What a trifler 
she was! How fortunate he was that he had 
put her out of his mind once for all! 

Here she was, laughing and jollying as 
though there were nothing in life but a laugh, 
and he, poor fool, breaking his heart over 
her. He did not even glance at her. It was 
all over. He would enter heartily into the 
rehearsal and forget there was ever such a 
person as Felice Jordan. He got up and left 
the crowd, and went to the rehearsal room to 

[ 24 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

study up his part. The last thing he heard 
as he turned into the outside corridor was the 
silvery laughter of Felice. 

Felice was a better actor than Jerry. He 
might have the leading role in an operetta, 
but he was no such artist as Felice at being 
what he was not. Behind the laughter of 
Felice, there were tears, invisible tears, soul 
tears, tears that were for joy and for pain. 
Apparently unconcerned, she caught sight of 
Jerry on her arrival. She saw him in his dis¬ 
traction. She observed that he was not a 
party to the good-natured bantering that 
went on. She noticed his leaving in disgust. 

His leaving almost coincided with her com¬ 
ing. Why did he leave? Doubtless her pres¬ 
ence displeased him. Perhaps he resented 
what May had called her attention to, her 
frigid and formal attitude at the last meet¬ 
ing. He was so sensitive that perhaps he 
took her manner as an insult, and desired to 
avoid another such experience. 

At all events, he had gone. In her quan¬ 
dary and anguish, she exerted herself to un¬ 
usual jollity. Neither he nor they should 
suspect her sentiments. It was her loud and 
forced laugh that grated on Jerry’s ears as 

[ 25 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


he was disappearing into the rehearsal room. 

Felice braved it out for a while, and, when 
the crowd grew larger, quietly withdrew. 
She had to be alone. Where could she go, 
to be by herself? The property room back 
of the stage occurred to her. Would it be 
open? She made her way roundabout and 
came to the room. The door was open. She 
entered, closed the door, and gave vent to her 
feelings. 

Jerry was at the other end of the room 
looking over his lines. It was a large room, 
filled with stage truck, and he was so im¬ 
mersed in his lines, partly humming, partly 
acting them, that he did not hear Felice as 
she entered. She, believing that she was en¬ 
tirely by herself, gave vent to her feelings. 

He thought he heard suppressed emotion. 
No, it must be his imagination. No one was 
sad but himself. He went on with his lines. 
Again the same sounds. Fearing someone 
might be under the impression that no one 
else was in the room, he shuffled his feet and 
coughed. Felice, fancying that the noise 
came from the stage, arose and retreated into 
the farthest corner of the room, to be away 

[ 26 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


from everyone. In her distraction^, she 
looked neither to the right nor the left, but 
walked heedlessly to the end of the room. 

Jerry heard steps approaching, but did 
not look up, thinking it was one of the stage 
hands. Presently, he heard an exclamation 
of surprise, and, raising his eyes, saw Felice. 
But only for a second. On seeing him, she 
turned abruptly and made as if she were look¬ 
ing for something. She quickly worked her 
way to the door. She ran back of the stage, 
stamped her foot, made violent gestures, 
hissed, blushed as if she had been caught 
stealing, her tender feelings giving place to 
embarrassment and rage. 

Not knowing women, Jerry thought that 
the best thing to do was to go and apologize 
for his presence. But what Felice wanted 
then was a distance of about a thousand miles 
from him and everybody else. In fact, if she 
could have got herself sentenced to solitary 
confinement, it would have gratified her at 
that particular moment. Away from every¬ 
thing and everybody was her one desire. 

Oh, the humiliation of it! Of all persons, 
Jerryi If it had been anyone else, an ex- 

[ 27 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

planation would have been easy—something 
lost, or a toothache, or, oh, anything. But 
Jerry! 

Suddenly she heard a voice: “I beg your 
pardon. Miss Jordan, I had no right to be in 
that room. I am sorry I intruded.” 

“No intrusion, whatever, Mr. Burke, I as¬ 
sure you. You’re intruding now. If a girl 
wants a little privacy, can’t she have it? If I 
have a bad earache, which may cause me to 
drop out of the rehearsal and the operetta, 
must I have an audience for my bitter disap¬ 
pointment?” 

Poor Jerry did not know how to withdraw 
gracefully. Moreover, Felice’s words and 
manner misled him completely. He really 
thought she had an earache. What was a 
man to do under such circumstances? 

Again Jerry showed how little he under¬ 
stood the gentle sex: 

“I’m awfully sorry. Miss Jordanj is there 
anything I can do?” 

For answer, Felice brushed him aside, and 
sought seclusion elsewhere. 

“Well, of all the—” sighed Jerry. 

He was entirely at sea. During the re¬ 
hearsal, which started shortly afterward, 

[ 28 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Jerry found difficulty in attending to his role. 
He looked over to where Felice should be, 
and found her absent. Poor girl, she must 
be in great pain to stay away from this im¬ 
portant rehearsal. Sympathy is not only 
akin to love—it also fans love into a flame. 
He was saying over and over again: ^‘Poor 
Felice, dear Felice!” 

All the while she was behind a door lead¬ 
ing to the stage, where she could see and 
not be seen. Her eyes were riveted on him. 
She saw him looking repeatedly to where she 
should be. She fancied she could read his 
face. It was so disturbed. He seemed dis¬ 
tracted. 

She now felt sure he did not know the 
cause of her emotional outburst. She began 
to take heart. She thought that she could 
now quietly take her place, as if relief from 
pain had enabled her to resume, and that 
Jerry would be none the wiser. Accordingly, 
she walked out to the group to which she be¬ 
longed. 

‘‘What’s the matter, Felice?” greeted her 
from the girls. 

“Oh, just a little affair I had to attend to 
at the last moment.” 

[ 29 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

^‘We were afraid you had run off and got 
married,” said May Carney. 

“Oh, May, do keep your teasing for an¬ 
other time!” 

May was a tease, decidedly. As the prin¬ 
cipals were going through some stage busi¬ 
ness, and the chorus was for the time-being, 
idle, May thought a little good-natured jol¬ 
lying was in place. 

“We surely thought you had eloped, Fe¬ 
lice, for all the men looked so disappointed 
when you did not appear.” 

“Well, they wouldn’t look disappointed if 
you dropped out.” 

“Oh, girls, girls, Pve hit it! Felice is in 
love. She was never ill-natured before. 
How she’d enjoy the elope joke if she were 
not in a heart aflFair!” 

Although this was said half in jest, Felice 
perceived the appropriateness of the conclu¬ 
sion, and also the best way to offset it. So 
she laughed louder and longer than the rest 
at the gibe. This completely disarmed every¬ 
body, including May. 

Jerry heard her laughter. Could he be¬ 
lieve his ears? Queer creature, woman! He 

[ 30 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


was afraid to look in her direction! Felice 
was dying to see how he took her return and 
conduct. But to look toward him! Not for 
the world. However, perhaps there are hu¬ 
man as well as material radio waves. It 
would be hardly possible for two such in¬ 
tense human radio stations to be flashing 
messages without eventually getting them 
caught up. 

Jerry had just finished his climactic solo. 
He did it well, extraordinarily well. It was 
addressed to the heroine. Doubtless he saw 
Felice in her. There was an intensity and 
artistry in it which could only come from 
inspiration. 

As he finished, the chorus and principals 
applauded heartily, everybody but Felice. 
He was astonished at the applause, but 
deeply gratified. Thinking it a good occasion 
to look around, he sought with his eyes Fe¬ 
lice. She, thinking that everybody was ab¬ 
sorbed in the solo and in the applause, fancied 
it a safe moment to look toward him. 

Their eyes met! 

She felt dreadfully embarrassed that he 
observed her looking at him. But her morti- 

[ 31 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

fication was nothing compared to his. Burke 
was a peculiar type of man. He seemed to 
have one nature in his intercourse with men, 
another with women. In business he was a 
good mixer, tactful, aggressive. With 
women he was diffident and shy. He had 
wonderful trust in the goodness and sincerity 
of women. It was because of this that he 
was so affected by Felice’s show of indigna¬ 
tion, just before the rehearsal. Accordingly, 
when she gave him a pert look, as his eyes 
met hers, he felt that he had been guilty of 
some grave indiscretion in his recent conduct 
toward her. 

Momentarily the consciousness of this took 
from him the elation consequent on the ap¬ 
plause that had been so liberally bestowed on 
him, and moreover caused him, in his con¬ 
fusion, to blush noticeably. Felice, quick of 
eye, observed his crimson face, and her 
heart began to flutter. 

The rehearsal, after a few minutes, was 
resumed, and to all except Jerry and Felice, 
went on in routine fashion. It was well for 
Jerry that he had no solo work for some little 
time. He was so confused that he hardly 
knew where he was or what he was doing. 

[ 32 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

By the time his next solo came round, he was 
more or less normal and acquitted himself 
creditably. 

After rehearsal the boys crowded about him 
and assured him that the operetta would be 
a success if he filled his role as well as he 
had done this evening. Father Boone came 
up to him and said: 

“Jerry, youVe more than fulfilled ex¬ 
pectations. Fm delighted with the way 
you’re carrying the part. You’re a revela¬ 
tion to us all.” 

“Thank you. Father. Provided I satisfy 
you, I’m satisfied.” 

Felice, immediately rehearsal was over, 
put on her things and without waiting for 
anyone or saying good-night to anybody left 
the hall. She wanted to be by herself. Just 
as she thought she was to have only herself 
for company home, along came May, who 
had to hurry to catch up with her. 

“What’s the hurry, Felice?” 

“I’ve got to be home early to-night.” 

“Well, I don’t see the need of running.” 

“Am I going so very fast?” 

“Very.” 

By now they were at the Avenue. Usually 

[ 33 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

at this hour there was not much traffic, and 
both the girls continued their first gait across 
the broad roadway. As they neared the far¬ 
ther side an auto was speeding uptown which 
caused them to hasten their already fast pace. 
The auto, however, was coming faster than 
they calculated, and in order to get out of its 
way, as it bore down on them, they had to 
cover the last distance in a run. As Felice 
neared the sidewalk, she just missed it, strik¬ 
ing her foot against the curb, and stumbling 
flat on her hands and face. May uttered a 
cry of fright, and ran to her prostrate com¬ 
panion. Felice had saved herself from seri¬ 
ous harm by throwing out her arms, which 
received the brunt of the shock. In her haste 
she had not put on her gloves, and when her 
hands struck the stone sidewalk under the 
momentum of her speed, the impact lacerated 
them from wrist to elbow. 

The shock had made her insensible to pain, 
so when May, bending down, asked if she 
were hurt she said “No.” May then helped 
her to her feet. But no sooner was she up- 
right than she emitted a groan and was in 
the act of falling, when May upheld her. 

“O May, my foot!” 

[ 34 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

^‘What’s the matter? 

‘‘Pm afraid it’s hurt, I can’t stand on it. 
Oh! Oh!” And she winced as she tried to 
support herself on it. 

Meanwhile the boys and girls, who had 
heard May’s shriek, came running up. In¬ 
stantly a number of willing hands were of¬ 
fered her. One of the young fellows hailed 
a passing cab and accompanied her home, con¬ 
sidering himself fortunate. Jerry arrived on 
the scene shortly after the cab had left, and 
received an exaggerated report of the acci¬ 
dent. No one observed his agitation, but he 
was intensely affected. 

He began to connect himself with the oc¬ 
currence. He had noticed her quick depar¬ 
ture and had attributed it to her desire to 
escape further embarrassment from him. In 
some strange way he felt he was the occasion 
of the mishap. All the way home he kept 
accusing himself. He felt miserable. In his 
mind he went over every detail of the eve¬ 
ning, and the more he dwelt on what had 
occurred, the more he blamed himself. 

When Felice got home, it was found that 
she had a badly swollen ankle. A doctor 
was summoned, who after examination in- 

[ 35 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

formed her that a ligament had been torn, 
and that for some time she would have to 
keep to her room. This news was as unwel¬ 
come to her as the accident. She had her 
heart set on the operetta for more reasons 
than one, and now she realized that partici¬ 
pation in it was out of the question. How¬ 
ever, she hoped that the doctor in his so¬ 
licitude had overstated the seriousness of her 
hurt, and that in a week at most she would 
be around more or less as usual. 

The next rehearsal was two days off. The 
performance itself was to be within a month, 
the date not having been definitely fixed. 
Jerry in his shyness made no inquiries about 
Felice, fearing to betray his sentiments. But 
at the rehearsal his ears were wide open to 
learn about her. He did not have to wait 
long. The first word he heard on arriving 
at the hall was an expression of sympathy 
by one of the boys, who remarked that it 
was too bad Felice was out of the show. By 
degrees he learned the particulars of her con¬ 
dition. Try as he would during the rehearsal, 
he could not do his part justice. His mind 
was on Felice, his eyes missed Felice. 

After a particularly poor rendition of a 

[ 36 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

solo which on a former occasion he had done 
superbly, one of the boys said in a joke: 

‘7ei*ry, old boy, we’ll tell Felice if you 
don’t do better than that.” 

It was just an idle remark, uttered without 
any thought of striking home, and with no 
idea at all of associating him with her. Jerry 
reddened and stammered something inco¬ 
herent in reply. In his desire to dissipate 
any notion of his being especially interested 
in Felice, he threw his entire energy and 
spirit into the next number, singing so well 
that it brought unusual applause. He had 
about concluded that he had succeeded in ban¬ 
ishing from the crowd the Felice idea, which 
in reality existed only in his own imagination, 
when the same wag, out of pleasantry, said: 

‘‘I told you, old boy. I knew that Felice 
would make you do it.” 

Jerry was ruffled for a moment. He fan¬ 
cied that this remark reflected the thoughts of 
others also. He felt so disturbed in regard 
to Felice that he believed that everyone read 
his sentiments. Thinking to throw them off 
the scent, he said, smiling: 

“I guess if Felice heard that solo, you fel¬ 
lows would have no chance.” 

[ 37 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Most of the crowd laughed, and the inci¬ 
dent seemed over, greatly to Jerry’s relief. 
But keen May Carney read between the lines. 
She had noticed his confusion as he uttered 
the remark, and she suspected that there was 
something beneath the surface. At any rate, ^ 
when the rehearsal was over, she contrived to 
be near him, and when no one else was close 
by, she said sympathetically: 

“It’s too bad about Felice, isn’t it?” 

His state of mind and her tone of voice 
were admirably adapted for the real expres¬ 
sion of his sentiments. 

“Is she really as badly off as they say?” 

“Worse, I’m afraid.” 

Saying which, she appeared unconcerned, 
but in reality was scrutinizing him. He knew 
that Felice and May were chums. He felt 
the need of saying something to somebody, 
and the sympathy of May appealed to him. 
She was really a very sincere and sympa¬ 
thetic girl. If one trusted her, one would 
never regret it. But, at the same time, she 
was full of mischief. Teasing was her de¬ 
light. But she never indulged in it to hurt 
others’ feelings, but only to make them and 
herself enjoy a predicament. 

[ 38 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

You say she’s worse than reported. Have 
you seen her yourself?” 

This was said with such earnestness and 
solicitude that May realized that he was more 
than ordinarily interested in her chum. 

“Yes, I saw her just before rehearsal.” 

He gave her a tender look. She observed 
it, and drew her own conclusion. 

At this point some of the others joined 
them, which put an end to their conversa¬ 
tion. But not to their confidential relation¬ 
ship. Jerry felt instinctively that May was 
aware of his sentiments—and he was some¬ 
how glad of it. She understood the situation 
better than he imagined. Rapidly she had 
gone over her previous conversation with Fe¬ 
lice about Jerry, and putting things together, 
inferred that the twain were more or less in 
love. What a situation for her! 

Immediately she conjured up the possibili¬ 
ties with Jerry or Felice as the subject of her 
wiles and artifices. And yet when she thought 
of Jerry, her heart went out to him. He 
seemed so helpless. He was like one lost. 
No, she would not, she could not, tease him. 
But Felice! Before going home, she decided 
to drop in and see her. Felice felt very 

[ 39 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

lonely this evening. The rehearsals had been 
a positive pleasure for her. And here she was 
with her ankle in a bandage, virtually a pris¬ 
oner. She had tried to read, to pass away the 
long evening, but her mind would persist in 
reverting to the rehearsal—and to Jerry. 

When at ten-thirty she heard footsteps ap¬ 
proaching the hall door, she never fancied it 
was a visitor. Suddenly, after a rapping and 
a “Come in!” the door opened and in walked 
May. 

“Oh, how good of you. May, to drop in! 
Sit down, tell me about it!” 

“Everybody missed you.” 

“Really! It’s good to know you’re missed, 
isn’t it?” 

“Everything went wellj we had a dandy 
rehearsal.” 

“Everybody there?” 

“Except you.” 

“How was little Buttercup?” 

“Oh, she was wonderful. If they all do 
as well, the show will certainly be a success.” 

Then in turn she asked about this char¬ 
acter and that. But although it seemed in¬ 
evitable that she must inquire about Jerry, 

[ 40 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

she made no allusion at all to him. This 
steering clear of the leading role confirmed 
May’s suspicions. She made up her mind to 
do a little angling. 

“Yes, the show promises well. Every¬ 
thing went ojff with snap except one or two 
roles. But you can’t expect perfection at re¬ 
hearsals.” 

“Of course notj that’s what rehearsals are 
for, to improve things. But who were the 
ones who did poorly?” 

“Oh, a couple of the boys weren’t up to 
the mark.” 

Felice was all attention. She waited for 
further information. Of course it was not 
forthcoming; that was not May’s way. She 
appeared indifferent to her chum’s ill-con¬ 
cealed curiosity and made as if she would 
change the subject. 

“Does your foot pain you very much?” 

“Not much.” Then hesitatingly: “Who 
were the fellows that didn’t do well?” 

“Jerry was one of them. But it wasn’t his 
fault, poor fellow.” 

Felice tried to appear disinterested in fur¬ 
ther information about him, but May could 

[ 41 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

see that she was burning with curiosity. 
Again May made as if to side-track the sub¬ 
ject by asking: 

“Was the doctor in to see you this eve¬ 
ning?” 

“No. I didn’t expect him.” 

She was trying to find a way of asking 
about Jerry without appearing to do so. May 
saw her predicament and enjoyed it im¬ 
mensely. As no further information was vol¬ 
unteered, and as Felice could restrain her 
curiosity no longer, she said archly: 

“You say that Jerry didn’t do well, but 
that it wasn’t his fault?” 

“No, he couldn’t help it.” 

“You’re so tantalizing, Mayj must I pull 
everything out of you? Why couldn’t he 
help it?” 

“Oh, you know how silly some of the girls 
are. They were making eyes at him and I 
suppose he felt a bit conceited. But it was 
the funniest thing in the world. You know 
what a wag Fred Baker is. Well, after the 
coach gave Jerry a call-down for not having 
his mind on his work, Fred said to him jok¬ 
ingly? ^Look out, Jerry, or I’ll tell Felice 
on you.’ You should have seen him blush! 

[ 42 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


Well, whatever it was, whether because he 
hates jollying or because of the coach’s call- 
down, he was all right after that.” 

Out of the corner of her eye May per¬ 
ceived that the mention of Jerry’s name with 
Felice’s caused her a distinct perturbation. 
She felt she had gone far enough with her 
teasing, and moreover that it confirmed all 
her suspicions. She talked on a few indiffer¬ 
ent topics and then said good night. 

After her departure Felice gave herself up 
to her own surmises. Jerry was not upset 
by the girls making eyes at him. He was 
used to that, and never minded it. But why 
did the mention of her name, even in joke, 
bring him to himself. On that she dwelt 
fondly. Yes, it must be so! He missed her 
as she missed him! 

The next day a box of flowers was handed 
by messenger to Felice. No card was en¬ 
closed, and no indication whatever of who 
was the sender. She was particularly fond 
of flowers. It embarrassed her that she did 
not know the sender. She wanted to acknowl¬ 
edge such a thoughtful act of kindness. 
However, she thought that the omission of 
a card was an oversight, and that she would 

[ 43 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

eventually learn who the sender was and be 
able to express her thanks. 

Several of the girls of the cast dropped 
in to see her on their way home from work, 
but on inquiry she learned that they knew 
nothing of the flowers. May also dropped 
in for a few minutes, and she too was unable 
to throw any light on the subject. 

The following day a messenger again 
called and left a box of flowers. It was a 
different messenger and from another ^or- 
ist. Again no card. But the flowers were 
very beautiful. Felice was in a quandary. 
Who could it be? Perhaps several of the 
girls had joined together and sent the token. 
But even so, they might have enclosed a card. 
However, this lack of authorship did not 
lessen her appreciation of the tribute. 

The day after, still another box by an alto¬ 
gether different messenger and from a new 
florist. No card. 

It happened that when they were deliv¬ 
ered, Felice was seated on a reclining chair 
in the room to which the door from the hall¬ 
way opened. When the messenger came in, 
she inquired offhand who sent the flowers. 

‘T don’t know. Miss5 it’s a big store. I 

[ 44 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

don’t know who buys, I just carry the bun¬ 
dles.” 

That evening when May came in on her 
way to rehearsal, Felice informed her of the 
mysteriousness surrounding the sender of the 
flowers. 

“Are you sure there was no card?” 

“Positive.” 

“That’s strange! When a person sends 
flowers, the name is half the gift.” 

“Exactly.” 

^^Let’s see the florists’ cards.” 

May inspected the three cards and noted 
the addresses. They were all in the neigh¬ 
borhood of Fifty-ninth Street and Madison 
Avenue. She concluded that the flowers came 
from the same person, who for personal rea¬ 
sons did not care to be known. As far as she 
knew, none of Felice’s friends lived in the 
neighborhood of these florists. However, 
Fifty-ninth Street was a transfer station, and 
one of the girls or boys may have taken ad¬ 
vantage of the proximity of a florist to order 
the flowers sent. She so explained the matter 
to Felice, who seemed to acquiesce. It often 
happens that in a hurry a person overlooks 
formalities. 


[ 45 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

But May had another solution of the mys¬ 
tery. Just before rehearsal she chanced to 
get in Jerry’s way, who inquired after Felice, 
not in a perfunctory manner, but with keenest 
solicitude. May told him that she was doing 
nicely and hoped to be out before the date of 
the performance. 

“By the way, Jerry, where do you live?” 

“I thought you knew, Lexington Avenue 
and Eighty-ninth Street.” 

“You don’t have far to come. Do you 
have to go far to business?” 

“No, I’m lucky that way. I jump on a 
car, transfer at Fifty-ninth and am in the office 
in no time.” 

He had hardly said this when the signal 
for rehearsal was given and their little chat 
ended. 

May knew now, without the least doubt, 
who sent the flowers. It was so much like 
Jerry. Her first impulse was to tease him 
on the matter after rehearsal. But when she 
saw his trustful countenance as he approached 
her to say good night, she did not have the 
heart to do it. Somehow she constituted her¬ 
self his champion. 

Her discovery, however, was too good to 

[ 46 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

keep to herself. Although it was late, she 
stopped on her way home to see Felice. 

“Any more flowers, Felice?” 

“Don’t be foolish. May. But it’s awfully 
good of you to drop in. You are a dear.” 

“I’ve been thinking of those flowers. I 
can’t get them out of my head. Flowers and 
no card. It’s so unusual. I say, haven’t you 
any idea at all who sent them?” 

“Not in the least.” 

“Perhaps it’s one of the boys; you know, 
you were very much liked by some of them. 
Is there anyone in particular who was fa¬ 
vored more than the others?” 

“O May, you do say such awkward things. 
How silly of you!” 

“Well, I was only judging by the many 
nice inquiries I received about you. By the 
way, bashful Jerry, in his own shy way, asked 
quite solicitously after you.” 

This was said in a most indifferent way. 
But it was not so received. Felice showed 
unmistakably that this last remark was a mat¬ 
ter of intense concern to her. May pretended 
not to notice her confusion, and as it was late, 
left hurriedly. 

The flowers continued to come regularly, 

H7] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

and always without a card. On the tenth 
day Felice recognized for the third time the 
messenger to whom she had previously 
spoken. She surmised that whoever sent the 
flowers would again order them from this 
place. She slipped a coin into the hand of 
the messenger as he delivered the box to her. 
The boy, a lad about sixteen, thanked her 
and turned to go. She detained him, saying 
that she would like very much to know who 
the good friend was who was sending the 
flowers: 

‘Tf you can find out who sends them, I 
shall be very happy, and I shall make you 
happy, too.” 

^‘All right. Miss, Pll try my best.” 

Four days later he came with the flowers 
as usual. 

“Well, sir, have you any news for me?” 

“Nope. I saw the guy when he came in. 
I was on the lookout for him, but I couldn’t 
find out who he was.” 

At least she knew the sender was a he. 

She gave the boy a liberal tip, who re¬ 
ceived it thankfully. He took a liking to 
Felice, and made up his mind he was going 
to play the detective for her. Not for any 

[ 48 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

reward, but because she was nice to him and 
he wanted to please her. So when the man 
came in some three days later, the boy de¬ 
tective followed him as he left the store. 
The man walked briskly over Fifty-ninth 
Street to Seventh Avenue and entered a large 
automobile establishment. He was close be¬ 
hind him as he entered. The man had hardly 
passed the open door when he was greeted 
by a gentleman inside: 

“Good morning, Burke!” 

The youthful Sherlock smiled a smile of 
satisfaction and said to himself: 

“Pretty soft, this detective business j I 
guess Pll go into it.” 

He hastened back to his store, received a 
“call-down” for not being around, and was 
given several boxes to deliver, among them 
the one for Miss Jordan. He left the store 
a conquering hero. In one short hour he had 
solved a mystery! He hastened to lay at his 
lady’s feet the fruits of victory. 

As he entered the room where Felice was, 
his countenance declared before he spoke a 
word that he had good news. 

“I’ve got him!” 

And the boy posed. He felt that having 

[491 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

done a service for his lady, he could claim a 
little familiarity. 

‘‘Pve got him! Quick work. Hereafter 
the detective for mine. His name’s Burke!” 

Felice thrilled at the sound. She more 
than blushed. Fortunately the boy did not 
pay any attention to her. He was so much 
interested in describing how he traced the vil¬ 
lain to his stronghold, that his mind’s eye 
was on him rather than on her. By the time 
he had finished his narration, Felice was 
quite herself. She opened her purse to give 
her youthful knight a tangible expression of 
her favor. But to her surprise he made a 
gesture of refusal, adding: 

‘‘No, lady, you was nice to me. I didn’t 
do this for money, but for you.” 

However, before he left she persuaded 
him he could do it for her and for the money 
also, if it were given as she was giving it. 
He went away whistling. 

And Felice! As the door closed on the 
happy boy, she opened the box of fresh flow¬ 
ers and saw Jerry’s heart in each one of them. 
She pressed them to her bosom and then to 
her lips. She was almost glad she had met 
with the accident. 


[ 50 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

The following evening May called on her 
way to rehearsal. Not knowing that Felice 
had the solution of the flower mystery, she 
thought she would have a little fun at her 
expense. 

‘‘Oh, how lovely those flowers look, Felice. 
Somebody must think a lot of somebody.” 

“It’s just a little good will shown by some 
of the cast, but it’s awfully nice and thought¬ 
ful.” 

“It’s more than good will. It’s devotion. 
Day after day to send such a beautiful mes¬ 
sage. Why, those flowers seem to say, ‘See 
how I love you.’ ” 

Felice for reply blushed confusedly. 

“I think I know who sent them, Felice.” 
“Who?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“If you knew, you wouldn’t be long tell- 
mg.” 

“You know as well as I do who sent them.” 

“How can you say that. May?” 

“How can I help saying it when I look at 
you! Ta-ta. Perhaps I’ll drop in on my 
way home.” 

When she arrived at the hall she sought 
out Jerry. Without any formality, she said: 

[ 51 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


“She knows.” 

This, of course, would have no meaning 
except he were the sender. Even so, most 
young fellows in his place would feign ig¬ 
norance or ask some misleading question. But 
simple Jerry blurted out: 

“How did she find it out?” 

May really had no doubt previously, but 
this admission was a seal on her conclusion. 
He was confusion personified as he looked 
inquiringly into her eyes. 

“You ought to be glad she knows, Jerry, 
and you would be if you knew how happy 
you’ve made her.” 

“Then she’s not put out?” 

“I should say not.” 

A look of supreme joy lighted up his face. 
While he was still radiant with happiness 
and at a loss what to say, the coach’s voice 
rang out, summoning everyone to rehearsal. 

Felice, shortly after May left, called to 
her mother: 

“I’m feeling very well to-night. I won¬ 
der if it would hurt me to hobble over to the 
rehearsal? I can get along very well on my 
crutches.” 

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” 

[ 52 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“But it’s so monotonous here, night after 
night. This afternoon I walked over to the 
church and back without inconvenience. I 
wish you’d say I should go.” 

“Do you really think it’s advisable?” 

^^I’m sure it will do me good. I’ll not stay 
long, but if I do. I’ll have company home, 
so you won’t have to worry.” 

“Well, if you wish, dear.” 

“Thank you, mother.” 

The rehearsal was about half over, when 
there was a commotion at the entrance to the 
hall. Only the principals were on the stage. 
The others were here and there. Jerry, look¬ 
ing in the direction of the disturbance, saw a 
girl on crutches surrounded by a crowd of 
eager, laughing girls and boys. He did not 
need to look a second time to know who it 
was. The coach, on learning it was Felice, 
gave the cast a little recess. 

The principals lost no time in getting to 
her and greeting her. She was greatly af¬ 
fected by their display of sympathy and af¬ 
fection. Jerry was the last to approach her. 
He was flushed and trembling as he neared 
her. To his joy, he saw that a little bouquet 
of flowers was on her breast, his flowers. He 

[ 53 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

waited timidly until everybody had greeted 
her. Then he drew near. As they shook 
hands, he received a gentle pressure from 
her, and when their eyes met, a tear glistened 
in hers. No words were spoken. But much 
was said which only lovers could hear. 

That evening Jerry and Felice walked 
home together. 


[54] 


IV 


F our months later, Felice called on 
Father Boone at the rectory. 

^^Good evening, Felice, youVe 
looking very happy, even for you.” 
am very happy. Father.” 

“How’s Jerry?” 

“It’s about him I’ve come to see you.” 
“From your smile, I know what’s up.” 
“Yes, Father, we’re engaged, and we want 
you to marry us.” 

“That will be a pleasure for me, Felice. 
I’ve known you both since you were little 
tots, and feel almost like a father to you.” 
“That’s the way we feel too. Father.” 
“When is it going to be, Felice?” 

“Two months from to-day. Father.” 

“Very well. You and Jerry come around 
to see me some evening, and we’ll arrange 
everything. Both of you bring your bap¬ 
tismal certificates. Not that I really need 
them in your case, but it is a formality that 
must be complied with.” 

“Why, we were baptized right here in this 

[ 55 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


city, Father, and you know both of us so well 
it hardly seems necessary to hunt up our cer¬ 
tificates.” 

‘‘That’s not it, my child. Before the priest 
may marry you, he must see your baptismal 
certificate. I take it for granted you were 
both baptized, but marriage is an affair of 
such consequence that nothing must be taken 
for granted.” 

“Why is the Church so strict. Father?” 

“For your own welfare, my child.” 

“I don’t quite see.” 

“Well, you know, the Church legislates for 
her children all over the world. If the 
Church were legislating for you only, or for 
this parish only, or for this city only, it might 
make laws altogether different. But she leg¬ 
islates for the welfare of the whole world, 
that is, for her adherents all over the 
world.” 

“But to come back to the certificates of 
Baptism, why are they so necessary? In what 
way, say, in our case, are they for our wel¬ 
fare?” 

“For your mutual protection. Let me ex¬ 
plain. Marriage with us is something sacred. 
Indeed, St. Paul, in order to show its sacred- 

[ 56 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


ness, compares it to Christ and the Church: 
‘Husbands, love your wives, as Christ also 
loved the Church and delivered Himself up 
for it, that He might sanctify it.’ ” 

“I never heard that before. Father. How 
lovely!” 

“Matrimony, therefore, being a sacred 
thing and a sacrament, the Church throws 
about it every safeguard. Once husband and 
wife, you are husband and wife until death 
breaks the bond.” 

“I hope it will be a long time before it 
breaks ours. Father.” 

“The Church, as legislator for her chil¬ 
dren, specifies the conditions for a valid mar- 
riage, just as civil law specifies the conditions 
for a valid contract, for marriage is a con¬ 
tract, a very solemn contract.” 

“Indeed, I am convinced of it now. Fa¬ 
ther.” 

“Unless by special dispensation, a Catholic 
may not marry a non-Catholic. Any formal¬ 
ity of marriage, no matter how elaborate, is 
no marriage for a Catholic unless the con¬ 
tract is made as the Church ordains. To 
make certain that both parties are Catholic, 
the baptismal certificates must be shown. 

[ 57 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Then the marriage is performed, and both 
parties realize that as Catholics they are liv¬ 
ing in holy wedlock.” 

“But, Father, you know we are Catholics.” 

“For all ordinary purposes I know you are 
Catholics, but the Church wants the priest 
who performs the marriage rites to have docu¬ 
mentary evidence that man and woman are 
Catholics.” 

“But you said it was for our welfare. In 
what way?” 

“Felice, in your case, I had rather not say. 
Jerry and you are so well matched that you, 
especially, might resent any possible future 
happening that could make a severance of the 
bond possible, not to say desirable.” 

“Oh, Father, the very thought is repug¬ 
nant. It sends a chill through me.” 

“Precisely. That’s why I say that, in your 
case, the reason I could give would not appeal 
to you.” 

“Well, let’s have it, anyway5 just let’s sup¬ 
pose.” 

“All right, then, since you insist. Suppose, 
then—remember it’s only suppose. Suppose 
that a few years from now, Jerry should 

find you incompatible, and someone else 

[ 58 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

very compatible—apparently—and that—but 
what’s the matter, Felice? I said ‘suppose,’ 
‘suppose.’ This is only ‘suppose,’ child. 
James! James! James! A little water! 
Hurry! There! Thanks. Just douse her 
face a little. There now, that will do. You 
may go now, James, thank you. 

“Truly^ Felice, I was only supposing. Of 
course, I know that nothing like that could 
happen. We’ll say no more about such im¬ 
possibilities. My, but you did take on. I 
might have known it, knowing how dear you 
are to each other.” 

“Pardon me, Father, for being so silly. I 

just couldn’t help it.” 

“No apology, Felice. It does Jerry and 
you credit. I’m really glad that the very 
possibility seems to you impossible.” 

“You see. Father, there never was such de¬ 
votion as ours. Jerry just adores me, and 
I’m perfectly crazy about him. It seems we 
were just made for each other.” 

“Of course, of course. I knew the princi¬ 
ple had no application in your case, but you 

would have me go on.” 

“But now. Father, that the shock is over, 

I am curious to know how it affects our wel- 

[ 59 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


fare, always taking for granted that in our 
case it is only ‘supposed ” 

“If you really want me to go into it, I 
will.” 

“I do. Father.” 

“Well, it’s this way. Suppose, suffose 
now, my child, suppose that for any reason 
Jerry should want to dissolve the marriage. 
If it was validly contracted, there is no power 
on earth that can undo a valid sacramental 
marriage that has been consummated. The 
pope could not do it for his own brother, no 
matter what the circumstances. But if there 
was a flaw in the marriage contract, such as 
to constitute it invalid, a man could take ad¬ 
vantage of it to set aside the union and take 
a new partner.” 

“I thought. Father, that a Catholic mar¬ 
riage was indissoluble?” 

“So it is. Nothing but death can undo the 
bond of Christian marriage, which is valid 
and has been consummated. But suppose it 
was not a valid marriage. In that case, the 
Church does not sever the bond, but states 
that there never was a bond. 

“The law of the land does the same in 
regard to civil contracts. The law upholds 

[ 60 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


a contract, but if it can be shown that the con¬ 
tract was invalid, the law refuses to acknowl¬ 
edge the contract. It does not break a con¬ 
tract, but simply declares that there was no 
contract from the beginning. So with the 
Church. She never dissolves a sacramental 
marriage which is valid and consummated.” 

‘‘Why do you say sacramental marriage. 
Father?” 

“Because a true Catholic marriage is a sac¬ 
rament. I used the word in order to em¬ 
phasize the sacred character of the bond.” 

“And what do you mean by a marriage 
which is valid and consummated?” 

“By that is meant a marriage which is val¬ 
idly performed and followed by that mar¬ 
riage relationship whose consequence may be 
parenthood.” 

“So when I hear of divorce among Cath¬ 
olics, it’s really not divorce at all. Father?” 

“Precisely. A separation may be allowed 
for good cause, but not with the right of re¬ 
marriage by either party. Whenever you 
hear of divorce among us, it means either 
that the marriage was, from the beginning, 
null and void, or that it was not consummated 
for some good reason or other.” 

[ 61 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“Besides the reasons you have given, does 
anything else make a marriage invalid?” 

“Now look here, Felice, this is not a cate¬ 
chism class. As a good Catholic, you should 
know all that I am telling you. Let us—” 

“Oh, Father, please go on. It is true I 
learned this as a child, but it has a new mean¬ 
ing now. Do please go on. It’s so very in¬ 
teresting and vital. And there’s so much 
discussion of this matter, that I want to be 
able to say the right thing. It’s all so true 
and beautiful as you explain it, and it’s so 
little understood really by many people. Do 
please go on.” 

“Well, a marriage may be null and void 
for various reasons. Sometimes the man and 
woman are not aware of the obstacle which 
makes their marriage invalid. Suppose, for 
instance, you left home as a child, and went 
to Australia, and that a few years later your 
first cousin followed you, and that, meeting 
some years afterward, and neither of you 
knowing of the relationship, you fell in love 
and were married. Before God, both of you 
in your innocence would be free from any 
wrongdoing, but your marriage would be 
null and void, because the Church prohibits 

[ 62 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

marriage between first cousins, except by spe¬ 
cial dispensation and for good cause.” 

“Isn’t that a dreadful situation, Father?” 

“That depends. Either they find out con¬ 
ditions, or they do not. If they do not, they 
go on in blissful ignorance. If they do find 
out, they can obtain a dispensation from the 
impediment, and, in virtue of that dispensa¬ 
tion, the Church would either re-marry them, 
or re-constitute the marriage valid from the 
beginning. But if either party wanted free¬ 
dom, with right of re-marriage, it would be 
lawful.” 

“This is news to me. But of course I see 

0 

the reasonableness of it 5 in fact, the necessity 
of it. You said there were various reasons. 
What are the others?” 

“This will do now. From this one in¬ 
stance you can readily see the nature of the 
others. The Church employs every safe¬ 
guard in regard to marriage, which is the 
foundation of the family, which in turn is 
the basis of society. You and Jerry come 
around some evening soon, and we shall ar¬ 
range the preliminaries.” 

“My, but there’s a lot to it, isn’t there?” 

“There’s a lot to it if you buy a house, or 

[ 63 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

form a business partnership. Marriage is a 
bigger thing than either.” . 

“Pm beginning to think so.” 

“Also, especially in your case, Felice, a 
better thing, I trust.” 

“Thank you. Father. But pardon me if 
I say that, in your interesting explanations, 
you forgot to touch on the very thing I most 
wanted to know. How does all this strict¬ 
ness make for our welfare? Of course I can 
see it in our case, for it gives Jerry and me 
the assurance that nothing can separate us. 
But suppose a woman married a man who 
turned out bad and abusive, where does the 
welfare come in?” 

“I think you’ve asked enough questions al¬ 
ready, Miss Curious j but if you promise that, 
at least for this occasion, you’ll ask no more, 
Pll answer this one.” 

“You have my promise.” 

“Very well. Please do not interrupt me. 
Pll cover the ground briefly and clearly, and 
then you run home. 

“First of all, you must know that all laws, 
civil as well as ecclesiastical, are for the gen¬ 
eral welfare. In individual cases there may 
be hardship, but the public at large and so- 

[ 64 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

ciety generally must be considered first. 
There is a speed law for automobiles. If you 
are in a hurry to catch a train, the law is a 
hardship for you, but a benefit for the public. 

^^Marriage indissolubility is for the wel^ 
fare of society. Now and then it may work 
sorely for individuals, but even for individ¬ 
uals in the long run and in most cases, it 
works advantageously. If married people 
know that they may separate and re-marry, 
many little difficulties which would be 
smoothed over grow bigger and bigger, and 
lead to divorce. 

^^Realizing, however, that no future mar¬ 
riage is lawful, their difficulties and annoy¬ 
ances are borne patiently, and eventually van¬ 
ish. It makes each party more tolerant and 
considerate of the other. If there be hope 
of re-marriage, either party may deliberately 
cause occasions of rupture, especially if a new 
face attracts them to a new alliance. Most 
divorces nowadays are followed by a new 
marriage, showing that the new face was busy 
before the old bond was severed. 

“Familiarity, especially the intimate fa¬ 
miliarity of marriage, eventually dissipates 
the romance which leads to wedlock. The 

[ 65 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Creator, knowing the fickleness of human 
nature, has made marriage indissoluble. If 
you buy a fine house in the country, you are 
at first charmed by it. You think you will 
never care to leave it. After a while, you 
wonder why you ever purchased it. Every¬ 
thing in life tends to the commonplace. 

“The mistake made now by many is that 
marriage must be a perpetual honeymoon. 
Nothing in life continues at white heat. We 
never heard of incompatibility in the old 
days. Now, it’s all the fashion. In the old 
days, husband and wife had their difficulties 
and quarrels, but made up, and grew fonder 
of each other. Now they have their mis¬ 
understandings, separate, and grow fonder of 
someone else. 

“That’s why I say that the marriage bond 
of Christian wedlock is for your welfare, 
Felice.” 

“But, Father—” 

“Now run home, like a good child.” 


[66] 


V 


T he day following the interview 
with Father Boone, Jerry called on 
Felice to find out what arrange¬ 
ments she had made for the marriage. 

After the usual greetings, she began: “Do 
you think you are related to me in any way, 
Jerry?” 

“Related to you? What do you mean?” 
“Why, we’re not first cousins or anything 
like that, are we?” 

“Felice, this is no time for joking. Did 
you arrange everything with Father Boone?” 
“Yes, everythingj that is, nothing.” 
“Won’t you stop teasing, Felice?” 

“Well, Jerry dear, if you promise to be 
good. I’ll report to you. I had a long talk 
with Father Boone, longer than I anticipated. 
It all began by my objecting to going to the 
bother of getting our baptismal certificates, 
since he knows that both of us are Catholics.” 

“You don’t mean to say, Felice, that we’ve 
got to prove we’re not pagans?” 

“Wait a moment, Jerry boy. We’ve not 

[ 67 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


only got to do that, but you must come with 
me—don’t pout, you bad boy—you must come 
with me and see Father Boone.” 

say, Felice, it beats the devil, all this 
red tape business.” 

“Now, Jerry, bad boy, none of that.” 

“Well, why can’t we get married and have 
it done with, without all this botheration. I 
hate this going and coming and signing 
and—” 

“Jerry, here’s Father Boone!” 

“Good evening, Jerry 5 good evening, Fe¬ 
lice.” 

“Good evening. Father,” from both. 

“I was passing by on an errand of charity, 
over to Mrs. Horgan’s. You know her, Fe¬ 
lice. She’s in a pretty bad way, and needs 
someone to drop in occasionally to help her 
a bit. I thought of you. You are busy, I 
know, but you can find a little time now and 
then to do a deed of charity. It will bring 
God’s blessing on you.” 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve asked me. Fa¬ 
ther. I wanted to do something like that 
before the great day^^ giving a sly look to¬ 
ward Jerry. 

“Thank you, Felice, I knew I could count 

[ 68 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

on you. You know Mrs. Horgan, Jerry, 
don’t you?” 

“I know her name, Father, that’s all.” 
sad case, and becoming more common 
every day. I married her nine years ago to 
Tom Horgan. A better fellow never lived. 
He got on too well for his own good, big 
head with big success, no time for home, nor 
church, nor anything. Pretty soon came the 
fast life. He forgot wife and children and 
God, began to run round with women, wife 
got a civil divorce and alimony. He married 
a cabaret girl—^gay time for a while—got 
into trouble over a woman, neglected his 
business and himself and took to drink. 

^^Soon his business all became tangled up— 
nothing left after settling accounts. Last 
year he died. Poor Mrs. Horgan is heart¬ 
broken, and kept alive only by her desire to 
live for her two children. Worry and pov¬ 
erty have at last worn her out, and she is 
helpless and fast going to join her husband.” 

“I hope not,” said Jerry. “I hope she’s 
not going where he is. Pd hate to be in his 
boots.” 

This broke the seriousness of things, and 
Felice said laughingly: “Father, I want you 

[ 69 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

to give this bad boy a scolding. Tell why, 
Jerry.” 

“Well, to be honest with you, Father, I 
was kicking against all this matrimonial red 
tape.” 

“For instance?” 

“Oh, well, there’s the Baptism certificate, 
and the banns, and the witnesses, and all the 
rest of it.” 

“You are buying a house now, are you not, 
Jerry? A house for somebody and you to 
live in a few months hence?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Is there any red tape about it?” 

“But marriage is different.” 

“True, it is different in the sense that it 
is more important. When you sign a con¬ 
tract for a house, you are getting a bit of land 
and a dwelling which you can dispose of 
when you like. When you sign a contract of 
marriage, you sign a deed which binds you 
until death parts you. You live In a house, 
but you live with a wife. You can be happy 
in any kind of house, but not with any kind 
of wife. 

“Your house and land may produce rev¬ 
enue, your wife gives you children. A house 

[ 70 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

can pass from hand to hand and remain the 
same. Your wife can never be to another 
what she is to you. It is safe to say that no 
other single thing in life is of such conse¬ 
quence to man as marriage. And yet you 
‘kick,^ Mr. Jerry, because you must take the 
same or less trouble with it than you do in 
acquiring title to a bit of real estate. 

“To be candid, Jerry, what did you have 
to do before you got the title to your new 
house?” 

“Pm ashamed of myself. Father. I never 
looked at it that way before.” 

“To get the house, you had to have the 
title searched and verified, the mortgage sat¬ 
isfied, the transfer made, etc., etc., and you 
had to engage a lawyer and get the signatures 
of various parties, and—” 

Here Felice interrupted: “Don’t be so seri¬ 
ous, Father. Jerry was only letting off a 
little steam. You see, he’s been so annoyed 
with all the troublesome but necessary de¬ 
tails connected with the purchase of the house, 
that he is taking it out on me and the wed¬ 
ding.” 

“You see, Jerry,” went on Father Boone, 
“the Church is simply taking necessary pre- 

[ 71 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


cautions for the safeguarding of the most im¬ 
portant affair in a man’s life.” 

“When do you want us to come around to 
see you, Father?” said Jerry, smiling. 

“At your convenience, only the sooner the 
better. You see, the banns must be published 
on three occasions preceding the marriage, 
and I must see your certificates of Baptism, 
etc. Of course in your case this is only a 
formality, but you may say the same in re¬ 
gard to real estate transactions at times.” 

“What’s the idea of the banns?” asked 
Jerry. 

“It’s one of the consequences of the 
Church’s being universal. If the Church 
were local, its members would be more or 
less known to one another. As it is, the 
Church embraces every nation and every 
place. A world-wide church must take into 
account adherents of every kind and from 
everywhere. The banns are proclaimed in 
order that the parties to a marriage may be 
announced publicly. 

“Suppose now—it’s only suffose^ Jerry,” 
and the priest gave a knowing look at Felice, 
“suppose when it is announced that Jeremiah 
Burke is to marry Felice Jordan, 

[ 72 ] 


someone 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

should come to me and say—this is only 
supposing—that Jeremiah Burke had a wife 
in another city. I see you’re shocked, but it 
would be a worse shock to the girl to find 
after the wedding that the man was already 
married, and that she herself was not a wife. 
The object of the banns is to prevent either 
party from imposing on the other. That is 
why, in reading the banns, they terminate 
with these words: Tf anyone knows a just 
cause or impediment why these persons 
should not be married, he is bound in con¬ 
science to make it known.’ ” 

“Do you know. Father, that this is news 
to me?” said Jerry. “All my life I’ve heard 
the banns proclaimed, but it just went in one 
ear and out the other. It never occurred to 
me it was a precaution against a deceptive or 
invalid marriage.” 

“It’s a precaution only. Sometimes with 
all the safeguards possible, a false and schem¬ 
ing person may inveigle an innocent party into 
a marriage which is no marriage at all. But 
the Church takes every precaution.” 

“Was it always as hard as this to get mar¬ 
ried?” asked Jerry. 

“Just what do you mean?” 

[ 73 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“Were there always so many regulations, 
etc., in regard to marrying?” 

“That’s not a bad question, Jerry. Just 
as the State specifies the conditions of a valid 
contract, so does the Church in her domain. 
At present, the Church is very strict, to offset 
the levity which prevails in regard to mar¬ 
riage. Young people nowadays rush into 
wedlock as if it were a bargain counter. Re¬ 
sult—they soon find they’ve got something 
they don’t want. Divorce follows j children, 
if there happen to be any, are torn from fa¬ 
ther or mother j lives are blasted and homes 
destroyed.” 

“For my part, I’m glad that the Church 
is so careful,” said Felice. “Some girls marry 
fellows they picked up at a party or a dance, 
without knowing anything about them except 
what they see. It’s an awful chance they’re 
taking.” 

“At best, Felice, it’s a chance. One never 
knows another except on intimate association. 
Courtship helps one to know the other, but 
not always. Man and woman are at their 
best previous to marriage. If then, with due 
courtship, marriage is a lottery, what is it 
in these snap-shot marriages? The divorce 

[ 74 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

courts give the answer. That’s why I said 
to you before, that the marriage regulations 
of the Church are for your welfare. They 
oblige man and woman to think seriously and 
to weigh the consequences of the step they 
contemplate taking.” 

‘‘Well, all the precautions didn’t help 
much in the Horgan case,” rejoined Jerry. 

“No, nor did the precepts and example of 
Christ prevent Judas from being a scoundrel,” 
retorted the priest. “In all these matters, 
you have the mystery of grace and free will 
which turns up at every step of life. That is 
no valid objection against due precaution. 
People are run over by automobiles every 
day. That does not mean that there should 
be no speed laws, or that the rest of us must 
shut our eyes as we cross the street.” 

“By Jingo, Father,” said Jerry, ‘^you get 
me at every turn. I guess the wisest thing 
I can do is to listen.” 

“You said it, Jerry,” broke in Felice. 

“Why don’t we hear more of this in 
church, Father?” queried Jerry. “We get 
lots of the goody-goody stuff, but that’s no 
use when you knock up against the gang that 
I meet every day. I tell you. Father, it’s 

[ 75 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

hard to keep the Faith when everybody 
around you is calling it baby food, and you 
don’t know what to say to them.” 

‘^Next time they say that, you tell them 
it was on this baby food that Columbus and 
Pasteur and Foch and Mercier and Albert of 
Belgium were nourished. These all were 
men’s men.” 

“Another solar plexus,” exclaimed Jerry. 

“That reminds me of what Edmund Burke 
said on a certain occasion, when speaking of 
those who belittle religion: ^They who do 
not love religion, hate it. God never pre¬ 
sents Himself to their thoughts but to menace 
and alarm them. They cannot strike the Sun 
out of heaven, but they are able to raise a 
smoldering smoke that obscures Him from 
their eyes.’ ” 

“Well, why don’t we get more of this style 
in church. Father?” pursued Jerry. 

“Let me ask you a question, Jerry. How 
often do you go to High Mass? You needn’t 
blush. You are in the same boat with a lot 
of young fellows. You believe in home¬ 
opathy in religion. You go to a Low Mass, 
perhaps stay down near the door, never hear 
a sermon at High Mass nor read a book on 

[ 76 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

religion, and then expect to be equipped 
against those fellows who read every book 
they can get hold of which attacks religion. 
They have hollow but specious reasoning, and 
you drop at their first shot. It is to their 
kind that Johnson’s words on an infidel of his 
day apply: ^He had just light enough to take 
himself to hell! ’ ” 

^‘Say, Father, that’s going some!” ejacu¬ 
lated Jerry. 

“These fellows,” continued the priest, 
“know little or nothing about what they con¬ 
demn. They are in the class with that scof¬ 
fer at religion to whom the great Newton 
said: T have studied these questions, and you 
have notj before you assail the Christian be¬ 
lief, know what you are assailing.’ ” 

“Now you’re working the steam-roller on 
me. Father. Look at Felice, laughing at me. 
She’s been telling me pretty much the same, 
but of course you know a man doesn’t take it 
from a woman. They’re pious naturally. 
But those chaps you named were no sissies. 
If I’m not all right from now on, it’s because 
I don’t want to be.” 

“Not so fast, Jerryj you’re only human. 
The flesh is weak. Everybody would be good 

[ 77 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

if approving and desiring made them so. 
But youVe got to reckon with human passion. 
All we can do is to pray and be humble and 
try. Pride goes before a fall. But if you are 
faithful to your church, you will have all the 
helps that human nature needs, to walk in the 
right way.” 

“Amen,” laughed Jerry. 

“It was a sort of sermon, wasn’t it?” 

“Sort of? The real thing! ” 

“Well now, as to the wedding, you know 
just what you must do. There must be two 
witnesses, the priest of the parish where the 
woman resides must be the officiating clergy¬ 
man, and, since it happens to be me in this 
case, Pll tie a knot so tight that only one per¬ 
son in the world will be able to break itj and 
his name is Death,” saying which he bade 
them adieu, and rapidly walked homeward. 

“Why are you so serious, Jerry?” 

“It’s a serious business, Felice.” 

“I’m glad to hear you say that, dear.” 


[ 78 ] 


VI 


T he wedding day came. Jerry 
wanted to have it as quiet as possi¬ 
ble. Not so Felice. It was the 
great evenf of her life. Also of Jerry’s, but 
it could not be simple enough for him, nor 
elaborate enough for her. Of course she pre¬ 
vailed, as is the privilege of women on such 
occasions. 

The church was filled with friends of the 
bride and groom as the time approached for 
the Nuptial Mass. Presently the wedding 
party entered the church and marched up the 
aisle to the sanctuary. Father Boone was 
awaiting them as they entered it. 

As bride and groom stood before the 
priest, he addressed them as follows: 

^^My dear friends, you are about to enter 
upon a union of which God Himself is the 
Author, and which our divine Saviour has 
consecrated in a special manner, giving to it a 
character of sanctity which places it among the 
sacraments. He knew full well the dangers 
by which we are surrounded and the weakness 

[ 79 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

of our nature, and for this reason He has at¬ 
tached to the worthy reception of this sacra¬ 
ment peculiar graces, which dispose the mar¬ 
ried couple to reverence their marriage vows 
and to surmount the various obstacles and 
difficulties they may meet with. 

“The present ceremony is one of vital im¬ 
portance to you both, as it is intimately asso¬ 
ciated with your temporal and eternal wel¬ 
fare. I have every reason to believe that 
your anticipations of happiness in this holy 
state are founded on a solid basis. You have 
duly prepared yourselves for it, and your 
hearts are such, I trust, in the sight of God, 
as to draw upon you His special favor and 
blessing. 

“With confidence, then, in the promises of 
our blessed Saviour, who condescended to 
honor with His divine presence the happy 
nuptials of Cana, I invite Him to come and 
preside on this occasion also, to bless the con¬ 
tract into which you are about to enter, and 
to render it by His grace a true emblem of 
that sacred union which exists between Him 
and His Church, a union of sentiment and 
action founded on virtue and the love of God, 
a union not only for time, but for eternity.” 

[ 80 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

The bridal party within the sanctuary and 
the friends in the body of the church re¬ 
ceived with rapt attention the words of the 
priest. All through the address, Felice was 
thinking of what Father Boone had stated to 
her in their former conversation. She real¬ 
ized that marriage, besides being a joyous 
event, was also one of the most serious af¬ 
fairs of life. 

This was brought home to her still more 
as Father Boone, stepping forward, said to 
Jerry: 

“Jeremiah Burke, wilt thou take Felice 
Jordan here present, for^thy lawful wife, 
according to the rite of our holy Mother the 
Church ? ” 

“I will.” 

“Felice Jordan, wilt thou take Jeremiah 
Burke here present, for thy lawful husband, 
according to the rite of our holy Mother the 
Church ? ” 

“I will.” 

“Jeremiah, join hands with Felice, and say 
these words after me: T, Jeremiah Burke, 
take thee, Felice Jordan, for my lawful wife, 
to have and to hold from this day forward, 
for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, 

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in sickness and in health, till death do us 
part.’ ” 

Then, turning to Felice: 

% Felice Jordan, take thee, Jeremiah 
Burke, for my lawful husband, to have and 
to hold from this day forward, for better, 
for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness 
and in health, till death do us part.’ ” 

Jeremiah and Felice having made their 
mutual vows, the priest said in a loud voice, 
inaking over them the sign of the cross: 

join you in wedlock, in the name of the 
Father and of the Son and of the Holy 
Ghost, Amen.” 

Having blessed the ring, he presented it to 
the groom, who placed it on the bride’s fin¬ 
ger, with these words: 

‘With this ring I thee wed, and I plight 
unto thee my troth.” 

The priest then invoked God’s blessing on 
them, ending with the prayer: 

“O Lord, graciously regard, we beseech 
Thee, these Thy servants and this holy rite 
by which Thou dost perpetuate mankind, 
and grant that, being united by Thy ordina¬ 
tion, they may be ever under Thy protec¬ 
tion, through Christ our Lord, Amen.” 

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Mass followed, the bride and groom 
kneeling within the sanctuary. The Church 
grants this privilege to lay persons on very 
few occasions, but accords it at the Nuptial 
Mass as an indication that religion enters 
substantially into the matrimonial state. 
During the Mass, Jerry and Felice received 
holy communion. 

Mass over, the wedding party marched 
down the aisle to the joyful strains of the 
organ. Felice beheld a sea of smiling faces as 
she walked toward the congregation, her own 
face one gracious smile. Gently leaning on 
Jerry’s arm, she returned with her eyes the 
congratulations which beamed upon her from 
all sides. All the formalities of signing 
the civil and ecclesiastical documents had 
been attended to the preceding evening, so 
they made their way direct to their car, thence 
to Felice’s home, where they received their 
congratulating friends. 

The specially invited guests sat down to 
breakfast. As they had both gone to holy 
communion at the Mass, Jerry and Felice 
were only now to break their fast. Even so, 
although it was after ten o’clock and neither 
had tasted anything since long before the 

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previous midnight, they had little desire for 
food. Joy more than sustained them. Fe¬ 
lice was saying repeatedly to herself, amidst 
all the excitement: ‘^He is mine, now, for¬ 
ever,” and Jerry kept saying in his heart: 
“Till death do us part.” 

The usual jollification went on, the break¬ 
fast party broke up, the guests were all gone, 
and Jerry and Felice stood alone with only 
the parents of both remaining. Felice went 
upstairs to change her dress for the honey¬ 
moon trip, while Jerry busied himself in an¬ 
other room packing up. 

Mr. and Mrs. Burke and Mr. and Mrs. 
Jordan were in the parlor by themselves. 
Burke and Jordan talked a little of every¬ 
thing, and seemed to consider the wedding as 
a matter of fact, a good match, for which 
both were thankful. Mrs. Burke and Mrs. 
Jordan sat silent for a while. 

Then Mrs. Jordan: “Of course you’ll miss 
Jerry, Mrs. Burke j he’s a fine boy. But, 
after all, he’s a boy, he’s not a girl, and that 
the only girl. I’m happy, of course, that- 
Felice has such a fine husband, but, oh, Mrs. 
Burke, I—” 


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She could say no more. The tears came 
down her cheeks and her breast heaved. 

Mrs. Burke put her arms around her, say¬ 
ing sweetly: “I understand, dear, I under¬ 
stand. When my Mary left me to get mar¬ 
ried, although she got the best man in the 
world and had the kind of marriage I always 
prayed for, I thought my heart would break 
when I had to give her up. But it’s our lot. 
We women were made to suffer. Somehow 
even our joy has tears. But dry your tears 
" now, here she comes, the darling.” 

^Why, mother, what’s this? You’re cry¬ 
ing! My dear, darling, pet—” She could 
get no further. Her own tears mingled with 
her mother’s as they fondly embraced. Both 
understood. 

Meanwhile Jerry could be heard whistling 
in an adjoining room, and the voices of the 
two men, who were discussing business or 
the topics of the day, drifted into the room 
where the three women, deep in the emo¬ 
tions of joy and sorrow, were comforting and 
cheering one another. ^^Parting is such 
sweet sorrow.” 


[ 85 ] 


VII 


A YEAR passed. God had sent a 
little girl into the new home. Hus¬ 
band and wife were now father and 
mother. The day of its birth, Jerry felt very 
big and happy as he entered his office and 
1 ooked f or congratulations. He was surprised 
that everybody did not know he was a fa¬ 
ther, but he was too happy to be disappointed 
at anything. 

Suddenly it occurred to him that they did 
not know. Of course they didn’t—how 
should they? He blushed, approached one 
of his friends, and said in a whisper, as 
though he were a criminal confessing guilt: 

“I have a little baby girl! ” 

But once he got it out, he did not look 
like a criminal. Rather he seemed to be a 
hero. He held up his head, expanded his 
chest, and awaited congratulations. Heart¬ 
ily they came, for he was well liked, was 
Jerry. 

All that day he was saying: “So now Pm 
a daddy!” The day seemed so long. He 

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wanted to run home to look at his little own 
flesh and blood, his little other self. All day 
long ^^Oh, you Felice” alternated with “So 
Pm a daddy.” He left business an hour 
earlier, rushed home, and bounded upstairs 
to his heaven. 

Felice was counting the hours for his re¬ 
turn. She had just said, “One hour more,” 
when the sound of his stride on the stairs 
caused her heart to beat rapidly and the color 
^ to mount to her cheeks. She was radiant, as 
Jerry flew to her arms and said, out of 
breath: “Where is it?” 

“It?” 

then, if that’s what you want.” 

“Here she is, Jerry,” as she tenderly put 
aside its wraps to let him have a peek at his 
treasure. 

“I can only see its nose.” 

^^Her nose, Jerry.” 

“Well, her nose, then. Don’t be so 
stingy j it’s mine as well as yours.” 

yours as well as mine, dear.” 

“Well, then, let me see it, her, or what¬ 
ever else it is.” 

Carefully Felice lowered the blanket until 
the face and head were disclosed. Jerry 

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grabbed his baby, blanket and all, and kissed 
it on head and face. Then he held it at arm’s 
length. 

“Your eyes, Felice.” 

“Your cheeky Jerry!” 

At which he stooped down and gave her 
a good hearty kiss, meanwhile holding his 
treasure under his arm. 

“Jerry, Jerry, what are you doing! You’ll 
drop it!” 

“You mean, drop her^ dear.” 

“Give the darling to me, Jerry.” 

Felice was so close to hysterics, that Jerry 
decided it was prudent to relinquish his rights 
for the time being in the ownership of her 
or It. All the while, the dear little bit of 
humanity was goodness itself, no screaming, 
no fussing. 

“She’s been that way all day, Jerry3 not 
a bit of trouble. Mother was in, and said 
she was the very opposite to me, that I kicked 
up an awful lot when I was a tiny thing.” 

“When you were a tiny thing!” 

“Oh, you Jerry!” 

It was a happy home. Jerry had obtained 
a larger interest in the business. Under his 
caref ul supervision the concern was growing 

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steadily, and the owner promised eventually 
to take him into partnership. The advent of 
the baby girl gave life a new meaning to him. 
Marriage, of course, had widened his horizon, 
but somehow this little bit of heaven intensi¬ 
fied his outlook. He had not merely to sup¬ 
port a wife, but to protect and educate a 
child. ^ 

How he rejoiced to think of this baby girl 
as a future Felice! His business became a 
positive pleasure to him now, because he was 
animated by a lofty ambition. To labor and 
live for his dear Felice and the tender babe 
at her breast! That made life worth living. 
That was an object to stimulate any man. 

Meanwhile the little lady was twining her¬ 
self about the hearts of father and mother. 
Jerry never was so near heaven as on that 
day when she gave him her first smile of 
recognition. 

^^Felice! Felice! Did you see that? She 
knows me.” And off he went into superla¬ 
tives about this most wonderful child that 
ever lived. But she was not yet baptized. 

‘What shall we call her, Jerry?” 

“It’s up to you, dear.” 

“Isn’t she heavenly!” 

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FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

^‘Sure! ” 

‘^And to think we were like this once.” 

‘Tt’s more than I can recall, Felice.” 

^‘So tiny, yet all the gold in the world 

couldn’t buy her.” 

“You’re a Rockefeller now, Felice.” 

“Oh, you’re always teasing! You know 
what I mean.” 

Jerry’s answer was to pick up his three- 
days-old daughter, implant a kiss on her rosy 
mouth, and hold her at arm’s length before 
his admiring gaze. 

“Don’t, Jerry, don’t do that, she’ll fallj 
let me have her.” 

“All right, dear, her Dad don’t care at all 
whether he drops her or not.” 

“Oh, Jerry, don’t be foolish j you know 
men are careless.” 

“I suppose so.” 

He held the baby for a moment at arm’s 
length, tenderly drew it close to him and 
kissed its downy head. All the while, Felice, 
from her reclining posture, followed every 
movement with solicitous eyes. The proud 
father, after satisfying somewhat his admi¬ 
ration and affection for his first-born child, 
handed her to the anxious mother, with the 

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FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

exclamation: “A little bit of heaven, Felice!” 

A tear of mother’s joy trickled down her 
cheek, which he kissed away. 

After a pause, Felice again inquired: 
^^What shall we call her, Jerry?” 

“Felice is the best name I know, dear.” 

“That’s nice of you, Jerry j but I have a 
great fancy for another name.” 

“It’s up to you.” 

^^How about Grace? That’s a name I al¬ 
ways loved. You just said she was a little 
bit of heaven. Grace reminds us of heaven.” 

“How so?” 

“It recalls the Blessed Mother.” 

“Just how?” 

“Why, the Angel Gabriel saluted her: 
Hail, full of grace!” 

“All right, then, let it be Grace.” 

Two weeks after its descent from the sky, 
the gift of heaven was brought to the church 
to be made a child of God. Jerry and Fe¬ 
lice were almost as much concerned as on their 
wedding day. Felice insisted on being pres¬ 
ent, and, as she seemed quite strong, there 
were no objections. The party motored to 
the church, and on arriving, were welcomed 
by Father Boone, who conducted them to the 

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Baptistery. The ceremony began, the spon¬ 
sors answering for the infant. 

“Grace, what dost thou ask of the Church 
of God?” 

“Faith.” 

“What doth faith bring thee to?” 

“Life everlasting.” 

“If, therefore, thou dost wish to enter life 
everlasting, keep the commandments. Love 
the Lord thy God with thy full heart, and 
soul, and mind^ and love thy neighbor as 
thyself.” 

Jerry had often been present at a Baptism, 
but he was never so much impressed before 
bv these words. He realized as never be- 
fore that God gave him this little one, not 
only for the comfort and joy of Felice and 
himself, but also as a precious charge to rear 
for God’s own home. 

This was further emphasized by the con¬ 
cluding words of the rite, as the priest placed 
a white veil over the newly-baptized infant: 

“Receive this white garment, which may- 
est thou carry without stain before the judg¬ 
ment seat of our Lord Jesus Christ, that thou 
mayest have eternal life. Amen.” 

After which, handing a lighted candle to 

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the sponsor, the priest continued: “Receive 
this burning light, and keep thy Baptism, so 
as to be without blame. Observe the com¬ 
mandments of God, that, when our Lord 
shall come to His nuptials, thou mayest meet 
Him together with all the saints in the heav¬ 
enly court, and mayest have life everlasting, 
and live forever and ever. Amen.” 

No sooner was the Baptism over, than Fe¬ 
lice folded the child to her breast, repeating: 
“My angel, my angel, my angel,” and smoth¬ 
ered it with kisses. 

Jerry stood radiant, eyes big with admira¬ 
tion and content. After a moment he stepped 
over to Felice and kissed her and the angel 
in her arms. The tiny darling was now truly 
a little bit of heaven. Father Boone con¬ 
gratulated the father and mother, and wished 
them and their babe all manner of blessings. 

That night, as Jerry and Felice knelt to¬ 
gether to say their evening prayers, Felice 
said: “Let’s say one more to thank God for 
this new bond between us.” 

Their whole heart went with that prayer. 


[ 93 ] 


Part II 


I 

G race grew up another Felice; 

Everybody loved her, her father 
most of all. And she returned all 
his love. Felice was happy in their love. At 
school, the child’s teachers and playmates 
showed her marked affection. She seemed 
to inspire love wherever she happened to be. 
Joy radiated from her. A silvery laugh 
made music to all that she said and did. 

Jerry’s firm went on increasing until it be¬ 
came one of the best established in the city. 
An agency was offered him for a new auto¬ 
mobile which was to invade the East. Its 
acceptance meant giving up an interest in an 
established and rapidly-extending business, 
but the prospects of the new car looked so 
good that he decided to accept the agency. 

Accordingly the company fitted up an of¬ 
fice on Broadway, and installed him as the 
eastern representative of the Dudley Motor 
Company. They made no mistake in select- 

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FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

ing him for the post. In fact, they knew his 
managerial ability thoroughly before they 
made the proposition to him. His industry 
and tact in his former employ had been ob¬ 
served, and they knew that these qualities 
would do the same for their business. 

From the start, he more than justified their 
expectations. Soon branch offices were estab¬ 
lished, and he found it advisable to leave the 
details of the main establishment and branch 
stores in the hands of subordinates, and give 
all his attention to general supervision. 

The company fitted up a suite of offices 
and gave him full latitude to engage all the 
assistants he judged necessary. His own pri¬ 
vate office was in the rear of all the others, and 
could be reached only by appointment. 

Burke was now quite a figure. People re¬ 
garded him as a man of importance. He felt 
his own importance. He was rising in the 
world. Business began to absorb him. It oc¬ 
cupied his thoughts almost to the exclusion 
of everything else. He lost interest in the 
little things at home which used to please 
him. 

Formerly he always greeted Felice with a 

kiss on returning home after business, and 

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then he would wait expectantly for Grace to 
rush into his arms and bestow a kiss. Now 
he seemed to be indifferent to their greeting. 
He received their welcome mechanically, 
sometimes petulantly. Dinner, that hour 
which usually saw him seated smiling at ta¬ 
ble, telling the events of the day, now found 
him abstracted, answering questions briefly, 
volunteering little information, and in a 
hurry to finish and go out to meet some 
business associate. 

Sometimes he would get a qualm of con¬ 
science as he reflected that he had not asked 
Felice out for a week or two, and he would 
suggest the theater. But this was so evi¬ 
dently a bore to him that after a while he 
stopped even this bit of graciousness. 

All the while, Felice was thinking how she 
could make things pleasant for him. She ob¬ 
served his absorption in business, and attrib¬ 
uted it to the responsibility of his position. 
As the business went on improving and en¬ 
larging, and everything about it became well 
established, his absorption, instead of show¬ 
ing any diminution, kept steadily increas¬ 
ing. 

Felice realized that home was losing its 

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charm for him. Business came first, very 
much first. She felt that he cared for her, 
he must care for her, but he did not show it. 
At times, with effort, he made some attempt 
to be his old self, but it was so forced that 
it was painful to both. Reluctantly she saw 
that business was taking her place. Even lit¬ 
tle Grace did not have the attraction for him 
which previously made the sight of her fill 
him with happiness. She was now nine, and 
a very lovable and beautiful child. 

One evening on his return, Felice, whose 
nerves were now at the breaking point, burst 
into tears as he hurried past her and Grace to 
go to his room. He was back in a few mo¬ 
ments, and, without looking at either, said, 
as he hastily sat down to dinner: “Hurry up, 
don’t mind formalities, Pve got to see a man 
down-town at seven-thirty.” 

Felice, who was in the act of serving the 
soup, let fall the plate and dropped into her 
chair, sobbing. Grace was at her side imme¬ 
diately, soothing and fondling her. Jerry sat 
up with a jerk. 

“Well, what’s the matter? Are you ill?” 

For reply, Felice became hysterical. Jerry 

jumped up and ran to her. 

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FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“What’s the matter, Felice j shall we send 
for the doctor?” 

Grace now began to cry, as she threw her 
arms about her mother. Little as she was, 
she knew her mother’s ailment. In fact, her 
own little heart was similarly affected. 

Jerry ^tood awkwardly as he asked again, 
this time a little more solicitously: “Is there 
anything the matter, Felice?” 

She was now somewhat herself, and her 
woman’s pride kept her from saying what was 
the matter. “Oh, it’s nothing j it will pass 
off. I’m all right now.” 

Jerry took his chair and awaited dinner. 
Felice said nothing. She was afraid to trust 
herself to speech. She thought if she spoke 
out she would say something that would 
make matters worse, so she served the dinner 
more or less in silence. After a while, it 
began to affect Jerry, for little Grace, who 
was usually chatty, kept as quiet as a mouse. 

Finally Jerry ventured a remark: “Has 
anything gone wrong? Do you want any¬ 
thing? Do you need anything?” 

No answer. Felice was afraid to trust her¬ 
self to a reply. 


[ 98 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“I don’t see why you’re taking on so.” 

No answer. 

“You’ve got everything a woman could de¬ 
sire. There’s nothing you want that you 
can’t have. You have a comfortable home, 
an automobile, clothes, books, everything that 
money can buy, and the best at that.” 

Everything that money can buy! That 
struck. Felice kept repeating that phrase to 
herself: “Everything that money can buy!” 
It was like a dagger thrust. 

“Oh, well, if you want to be cantankerous, 
all right. I’ve done everything I know of 
to make things agreeable, but if you won’t be 
pleased, you won’t, and that’s all there’s 
about it. You’ve put me in a nice frame of 
mind now to meet a man on important busi¬ 
ness.” 

Felice could restrain herself no longer. 

“Important business! Important business! 
It’s business, business, business, and then 
again business. Isn’t home your business? 
Aren’t wife and daughter your business? 
I’ve excused a lot and refrained long, because 
I made allowance for your business. But 
home is your business, your first business. 

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FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

It’s all right to attend to business, but begin 
here.” 

“What do you want me to do? The home 
is your affair. It’s not a man’s business. I 
provide, don’t I? Do I ever refuse any¬ 
thing? Do I ever question bills? What’s 
wrong with the home? I don’t see anything 
wrong. Few of your friends have such a 
nice home.” 

“Jerry Burke, home is something besides 
furniture and rooms. I had that before I 
ever met you.” 

“What are you driving at? Do you insinu¬ 
ate that there’s another woman?” 

“I insinuate nothing. It’s not another 
woman. It’s because there’s no woman at all. 
What is your home without flesh and blood? 
Jerry Burke, what have I been to you the 
past year and a half? What has your wife 
been to you? And your child? Stop crying, 
darling.” 

“Just what do you mean, Felice?” 

“How many evenings have you spent at 
home the past year? How often have you 
asked me out? It’s in again and out again. 
It’s an appointment, and the office, and this 
deal and that deal, and this man and that 

[ 100 ] 



K ( f 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

man, until home is only a hotel and your wife 
is only a housekeeper.” 

And taking Grace by the hand, she walked 
off to her room. There she closed and locked 
the door, and gave free rein to her emotion. 

Jerry sat thinking for a while, then sud¬ 
denly, looking at his watch, arose with a 
jump, put on hat and coat, and went out. 


[ 101 ] 


II 


T hat evening Jerry put through a 
big deal. It was of such conse¬ 
quence that it drove out of his 
mind the events of the early evening. On 
his way home, he kept reflecting that this 
new business stroke would make him a big 
factor in the Dudley Motor Company. 

The president of the company had tried 
for seven months to accomplish this result, 
only to be obliged to give it up, or rather, to 
turn it over to him. And now he had done 
it, and done it quickly and advantageously. 
He was thinking of the congratulations that 
he would receive on the morrow from the 
office, and of the added confidence they would 
have in him, when the trolley brought him 
to his street, and he alighted with a start. 
The sight of his own street brought back the 
dinner row, for that was how he character¬ 
ized it. 

“What’s got into Felice? She used to be 
decent, but now she’s nagging and looking 
for trouble and turning Grace against me. 

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FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Pm too easy, that’s it. She wants me to be 
at her beck and call. Where would the busi¬ 
ness be if I did not keep close watch on it?” 

It was past midnight when he reached his 
door. He let himself in, a usual thing the 
past year, and went to his room. Everything 
was quiet as he turned in for the night. 

Next morning, he was down for breakfast 
as usual. He waited for a while, and, as 
neither wife nor daughter appeared, rang the 
bell and the maid came, to whom he gave 
orders to serve breakfast. He had overslept 
and was later than usual, so he hastily break¬ 
fasted, and, without waiting at all, put on his 
hat and coat and went to business. 

Business was now his life. Success had 
given to business an attraction which made it 
his sole delight. It had its cares, its uncer¬ 
tainties, its ups and downs, but all these 
served only to give interest to the game. 
Game it was, with all the fascination of gam¬ 
bling. And he was successful! Almost every 
day he felt the exhilaration of a hunter who 
had bagged his game. Of course this ex¬ 
hilaration was a stimulus and a tonic. It was 
also exhausting, as the hunt is exhausting. 

No wonder when he got home in the eve- 

[ 103 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

ning he felt no inclination to sociability! He 
wanted to be let alone, or to go out to see 
about more business, for he was never too 
tired for that. 

At home he must be congenial, and for a 
tired business man that was not congenial. 
Women were such inconsiderate beings. 
They had no regard for a man’s needs. They 
must talk to him when he is tired, and insist 
on going out when he has been out all day. 
How unreasonable! He was surprised at Fe¬ 
lice. She seemed so sensible and sympathetic, 
and yet she now showed that she was neither. 

Felice meanwhile was in a quandary. She 
wanted affection, yes, but she wanted it of¬ 
fered her spontaneously. Although she 
craved it, she could not ask it. What was the 
matter with Jerry? She was all the world 
to him until a year and a half ago. Now she 
was nothing. Had she changed? Had she 
interfered in any way, or crossed him? 

She could think of nothing. Rather she 
could think of a thousand and one little 
things she was always doing for his comfort 
and peace. What was the fascination of busi¬ 
ness that took him away from her and from 
Grace? All day she was alone with home 

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duties, 9nly occasionally seeing someone, yet 
she was happy formerly in her solitude, think- 
of Jerry’s return and the pleasant eve¬ 
ning. But there were no more pleasant eve¬ 
nings. He came in and he went out. He 
had little to say, and when he did talk, it 
was business. Oh, that horrid business! 

When they were in ordinary circumstances, 
home had been heaven. They were every¬ 
thing to each other. How she listened for 
his footsteps as the hour for his home-coming 
approached! And the greeting he gave her, 
was it not worth the whole day’s waiting for? 
And how he told her what a treasure she was, 
his life, more than his life! And what a 
thrill that sent through her! And how fond 
of Grace he had been! 

Every evening was spent at home, or, if he 
went out, it was together with her, after 
Grace had been put to bed. How often he 
had told her that she was the most wonder¬ 
ful woman in the world, and she, blushing, 
had said: “Oh, you Jerry!” But no matter 
how often he said it, she liked it, and liked 
him better for it, and always blushed, and 
always said: “Oh, you Jerry!” 

All that was gone now, yet she was the 

[ 105 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

same Felice, and, as far as she could see, he 
was the same Jerry. It was that business, that 
successful business. She began to hate it as 
she would a woman who had stepped in be¬ 
tween them. Thank God, there was no 
woman in the case. Business was a bad rival, 
but not such a rival as the other. 

Well, she must make the best of it. Al¬ 
lowances must be made for a man’s part in 
the world. She would try harder than ever 
to make the home a rival, and a successful 
rival, to business. She would study him and 
his moods, and try to make him feel that her 
main business was himself. Surely this was a 
passing phase. But, oh, it was so hard! To 
be alone, or nearly alone, all day, and find 
that he wanted to be alone or let alone when 
evening came. But she would try. 

It was now about the hour for his return. 
During the day, the president of the com¬ 
pany at a board meeting had congratulated 
him on the deal he had effected, which would 
put the company among the most prominent 
in the country. The public and hearty con¬ 
gratulation was intoxicating. Jerry felt as 
big as six. All day he was walking on air. 
He was up in the clouds. Success had given 

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FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

him a sensation of power and influence which 
was a very delirium of joy. In his exuber¬ 
ance, he had forgotten all about last night 
and this morning. His mind was full of 
one thing only—his big successful deal. 

Arriving home, he was about to put his 
hand into his pocket to let himself in as usual, 
when the door opvened, and there stood Felice 
all smiles. He thought she had heard of his 
success and the president’s congratulations, 
and took it for granted her smiles were a 
share in his business achievement. 

She gave him every encouragement to ap¬ 
proach and kiss her, holding herself in a re¬ 
ceptive posture and inviting him with her 
eyes. She was hungry for his embrace. But 
he walked in proudly, stood for a moment 
before her, looked for congratulations from 
her, and when they were not forthcoming, 
walked by her. 

Poor Felice! She was too dumbfounded 
for words. However, she made the best of 
it, hoping that it was a passing spell, and 
that patience would eventually win out. At 
dinner, she was unusually pleasant, consult¬ 
ing his moods and fancies in everything. But 
she would not refer to business. How could 

[ 107 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

she encourage her rival? Yet the only thing 
in his mind was business. 

At length he broke out: “Felice, what in 
the name of heaven is the matter with you? 
You’re like a perfect stranger. Here, I work 
and worry for you all day, I give you every¬ 
thing in the power of money to bestow, and 
you’re absolutely unappreciative. I don’t 
want any thanks, but I do look for a little 
recognition, and I get none. The only way 
to deal with a woman like you is to ignore 
her. And that’s what I’m going to do.” 

Suiting the action to the word, he arose 
from the table, without waiting for dessert, 
and left the room in a temper. The dessert! 
Felice had made it herself, the thing he liked 
best, and in the way in which she only could 
do it. 

She began to think that there was a limit. 
She could stand just so much. So far she 
had told no one of Jerry’s changed attitude, 
not even her mother. She hated to have any¬ 
one know that she could not hold her hus¬ 
band’s love. But there was a limit. A hard 
feeling began to creep into her heart. She 
fought against it. She had seen too many 
married people estranged and their homes 

[ 108 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

broken up to allow anything to mar her home. 
But there was a limit. 

Burke also concluded that there was a limit, 
and with this idea in his mind decided that 
something would have to be donej and that 
soon. He could not stand this condition of 
home affairs much longer. Imagine him, a 
successful business man, and his wife, instead 
of sharing his success, nagging him into des¬ 
peration! It must stop. 

After his departure, Felice had thrown 
herself into the big armchair and cried her 
eyes out. Poor little Grace sat at her feet, 
trying in vain to soothe her. But she would 
not be comforted. It was some consolation 
to nurse her injured feelings. 

After an hour or so, her emotion subsided, 
and she began to reflect. This could not go 
on. But there was Grace. She must be con¬ 
sidered. If it concerned herself only, she 
would go back to her mother. She would 
rather work and earn a meager livelihood 
than put up with the present situation. 
But Grace must be considered. It would 
break her little heart, for she loved her 
^^Daddy.” 

“And I love him too, and that’s what hurts. 

[ 109 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Oh, that horrid business, which is turning him 
away from us!” 

Then she remembered her marriage vows, 
“for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, 
in sickness and in health, until death do us 
part.” For some years it certainly was for 
better. Jerry and she had been the happiest 
married couple conceivable. “For better, for 
worse,”—that kept repeating itself to her. 
It was “for worse” now. She did not notice 
the significance of the words when she vowed 
her troth, but they came to her now in all 
their fullness. Evidently, the Church fore¬ 
saw just such a situation as hers when it for¬ 
mulated the marriage rite. 

She must be true to her religion and carry 
the cross which was hers. After all, it might 
be sickness or poverty or insanity or another 
woman. It was none of these. Yet she had 
rather it were than what it was. No, not 
exactly. Insanity would be worse. Suppose 
Jerry lost his mind! Or another woman! 
Worse! 

It was a trying situation she was in, but 
that was the purpose of religion—to give 
courage and strength in trying situations. She 
was a religious woman—here was the test. 

[ 110 ] 


for better for worse 

She made her vows to God, not to man. She 
must keep them. Patience solves many dif¬ 
ficulties. She would be patient, and no doubt 
God would bless her in the end. It would 
be hard, but it was her part, and she must 
not shirk it. 

Of course there was separation without 
divorce, but she must not think of that until 
everything else was exhausted. So she re¬ 
flected, and so she resolved. She would make 
a virtue of necessity. And she did. And 
with such effect that, although Jerry became 
more and more absorbed in business until it 
got to be an obsession with him, she held to 
her resolve and kept the home together. 

So it went on for several years, until he was’ 
thirty-seven, and had been twelve years mar¬ 
ried, and Grace was in her eleventh year. 
With success in business, he had moved into 
a better section of the parish and established 
a very substantial home. An automobile took 
him to and from business. 

Two other children had been added to the 
family circle, but scarlet fever claimed one 
when it was four months old, and diphtheria 
took another in its third year. All the af¬ 
fection of father and mother was centered in 

[ 111 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Grace, who grew up a beautiful and refined 
girl. 

Meanwhile business kept claiming more 
and more of Burke. His evenings with his 
family were few, very few indeed. He was 
making money fast, in fact, faster than he 
realized. He decided to put most of it into 
the business, and accordingly invested in stock 
of the company. Eventually this made him 
a director of the corporation. 

Occasionally he made outside investments. 
One day, the promoter of an oil company suc¬ 
ceeded in interesting him in the concern. It 
looked so good to him that he bought one 
hundred shares. The price was nominal, ten 
dollars a share. He took it as an experiment 
more than anything else. 

About seven months later, he found that 
the concern had gone to the wall, and his stock 
was not worth more than its weight in paper. 
The company’s machinery was set up and oil 
seemed assured, but the additional capital re¬ 
quired for operation could not be obtained, 
so the plant stood a monument to failure. 

The day Jerry got the news of the failure 
was Felice’s birthday. 

“I guess I’ll play a joke on her.” 

[ 112 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

He took the bundle of stock from his safe, 
wrapped it up in an attractive package, put a 
big $1,000.00 mark on it, and when he ar¬ 
rived home, handed it to Felice. 

‘^Oh, you foolish boy, there’s no need of 
that. You know that all I have is yours and 
all yours is mine, as you’ve often told me, so 
what’s the use of this formality?” 

“Well, to tell the truth, I wanted to get 
some good out of it. The company has gone 
up the spout, and its paper is worth abso¬ 
lutely nothing. But it enabled me to play a 
little joke on you and give you a bit of a sur¬ 
prise, and that’s worth a thousand dollars to 
me any time.” 

“Oh, you Jerry! ” followed by a kiss, which 
was really worth the thousand. Visions of 
returning affection filled her mind as she 
held the parcel in her hand. She carried it to 
her bureau and there deposited it in a drawer 
where she placed other things which she did 
not want to throw away, although she really 
had no good reason for keeping. 

Jerry’s business kept growing and growing. 
His department showed such excellent results 
that a year and a half later he was made vice- 

president of the Dudley Motor Company. 

[ 113 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

The business was in the automobile district, 
but as he was now the highest official of the 
company in the East, he moved downtown, 
where he became one of the big men in the 
financial world. 

As yet he was not rich in the Wall Street 
meaning of the term, but he exercised power 
and wielded great influence, the stepping- 
stones to wealth. The business called for 
occasional trips to Boston, Providence and 
Philadelphia, which made Felice regret that 
his prosperity was purchased at the cost of 
loosening the bonds of home life. 

By degrees, Jerry got altogether absorbed 
in the extension of his company. There was 
a refined intoxication in the exercise of power. 
It began to deaden him toward everything 
else. It was business with him all the time. 
People paid him the tribute which they ac¬ 
cord to a successful man. He felt he was 
somebody. It was not unusual for him to be 
away from home two or three nights a week. 
When he was home, he no longer showed in¬ 
terest in Felice or Grace. 

Felice actually lamented his success. She 
felt sorry for him—also for herself. Little 
Grace, now thirteen, was often in tears in the 

[IH] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

privacy of her room when her father, on his 
return home after an absence, had only a 
formal greeting for her. No matter what 
Felice did, she could not interest him in the 
home or in herself. She feared to talk to him 
about his attitude. 

At last business got a gambler’s grip on 
him. Soon it claimed him for its own. He 
was now the slave of finance. It was his rul¬ 
ing passion. Money, as well as woman or 
drink, can master a man. On Sunday he was 
either too tired to get up and go to Mass, or 
else he spent the day reading, figuring, or 
seeing persons of consequence in the financial 
world. 

Felice felt his staying away from Mass 
more than anything else. She had heard of 
the absorption of business, but never before 
had she realized its awful clutch on the mind 
and soul of a man. Several times she 
broached the matter of his absorption to 
Jerry, but he showed such irritation that she 
felt that patience was the best thing. Still, 
she could not go on seeing him neglect the 
home and his religion. 

She spoke of it to her mother. 

‘^Oh, men are men, and I suppose we’ve 

[ 115 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

got to put up with them and their ways, and 
pray for themd^ That was all the comfort 
she got there. 

For Grace’s sake she kept up bravely. Day 
after day, however, it was harder. She must 
unburden herself to someone. She must get 
counsel. Things simply could not go on this 
way. She was at the breaking point again. 
She decided to go to see Father Boone. 


[ 116 ] 


Ill 


F elice was at the rectory at eleven 
o’clock the next morning. While she 
was waiting in the parlor she thought 
of the day some fourteen years ago when she 
came smiling to inform Father Boone of her 
engagement to Jerry. She had to try hard 
to keep the tears back. 

Presently the priest entered. Presently the 
tears came in torrents. She sighed, she shook. 
Father Boone sat silent. He knew that the 
best thing to do was to do nothing. The 
storm must subside of itself. In a few min¬ 
utes it did. 

“Well, Felice?” 

“I beg your pardon. Father, but I couldn’t 
help it. I’ve kept in so long it had to burst. 
Your presence just opened the gates.” 

Again she began to shed tears and to 
take on. 

After a little, she calmed herself, and said: 
“It’s about Jerry, Father.” 

He said nothing—just waited. 

“You see, he’s all caught up in business, and 

[ 117 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

has no time for the home or his Church, or 
for anything but business. It’s business, busi¬ 
ness, business, and then business, until I’m 
nearly crazy, and poor little Grace is heart- 
broken.” 

‘‘Money madness?” 

“No, it’s not exactly that, it’s not the 
money, it’s the business. He’s got more 
money than he needs. It’s that horrid busi- 

ness.” 

“Would he be so absorbed if there were 
no money in it, do you think? If he were on 

a salary, for instance?” 

“No, when he was on a salary we lived. 

Now we’re not living, we’re only existing.” 

“It’s money. Money is power. Power in¬ 
toxicates. The worship of the Golden Calf 
did not stop with the chastisement of the 
Israelites. It’s a form of idolatry. 

“It is taking the place of God with Jerry, 
I’m afraid. Father. Oh, can’t you help me?” 
“We’ll see, my child, we’ll see.” 

“He’s all right at heart.” 

“Yes, I’m sure of that. Last week he sent 
me a check for five hundred dollars for the 
St. Vincent de Paul charities. It is true I sent 

[ 118 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

him an appeal, as we have many poor families 
to carry through this severe winter, but he 
answered promptly and generously.” 

“Oh, Father, that has lifted a load off my 
soul. I am so glad to hear that.” 

“Yes, it shows that he’s not altogether an 
idolater. But what you tell me makes me 
anxious, nevertheless. Pve seen so many 
turn their backs on God for money or for 
what money represents, that I must see Jerry 
if he continues to neglect his religious duties. 
You let me know soon if things don’t im¬ 
prove. Patience solves a lot of difficulties, 
and perhaps it will solve this.” 

“This talk has done me so much good, 
Father. I had to unburden myself, and I 
can talk to you as I can to heaven. And I’m 
so glad, Father, that you did not pitch into 
Jerry. The poor boy, I suppose his head has 
been turned by his quick rise in the world, 
and when he gets used to the high atmos¬ 
phere, he’ll be himself again.” 

“You’re a good girl, Felice. I like to hear 
you stand up for Jerry, even when he can’t 
stand up for himself.” 

“You’ll pray for us, won’t you, Father?” 

[ 119 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“Assuredly, my child, and don’t forget to 
keep me posted.” 

“Good morning. Father.” 

“God bless you, Felice!” 


[ 120 ] 


IV 


J ERRY was by degrees becoming recog¬ 
nized as somebody. Various charitable 
and philanthropic organizations put him 
on their list of patrons. He was flat¬ 
tered by this recognition of his standing. Of 
course a substantial check usually showed his 
appreciation of their recognition. 

He was beginning to feel a little uneasy 
about his neglect of religious duties, but 
salved his conscience by the thought that 
“charity covered a multitude of sins.” Sun¬ 
day after Sunday went by, and no Mass for 
Jerry. Finally, he went occasionally, to avoid 
the unpleasantness caused in the home. But 
as he went for motives of policy, peace being 
the policy in this case, he soon dropped off 
altogether. 

Felice and Grace emphasized their religion 
in order to influence him, but without effect. 
Felice was thinking seriously of seeing Father 
Boone, but kept putting it off and off. Grad¬ 
ually Jerry drifted from religious careless¬ 
ness into religious indifference. This indif- 

[ 121 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


ference grew into antagonism as he perceived 
the silent rebuke which the conduct of wife 
and child administered. Finally, something 
like a hostile atmosphere pervaded the home 
when he was there. 

The business meanwhile was getting bigger 
and bigger. Its responsibility began to weigh 
heavily on him. He decided that a little va¬ 
cation was necessary. He had never had one. 
By now, he was in such a frame of mind 
toward his home that he wanted to get away 
from it. And yet it was the one place in 
the world for his peace and welfare did he 
but know it. There were two loving hearts 
there that would gladden the life of any man, 
but his eyes were held. 

Without returning home on this day, he 
sent a hurried note to Felice saying he would 
be away for two weeks, a trip to the British 
West Indies and back, a much-needed rest. 
A messenger would call for his-large grip, 
which they were to pack with his necessary 
things. There was no word of farewell, or 
love, or anything. 

In a way, Felice was glad. She felt he was 
overworked, and that the trip was just what 

he needed. He would return himself, his old 

[ 122 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

self, and everything would be as before. She 
packed his grip, first putting in a love note 
from Grace and herself and went to some 
pains to select every little thing she knew he 
liked. On top of all the things in the grip, 
she put another tiny note with a billion kisses 
indicated on it from Grace and herself. Of 
course she felt keenly his not coming home 
before his departure, but that was not his 
fault, but that of the horrid business. 

The messenger called for the grip in due 
time, and Jerry, having hastily arranged his 
office papers, etc., phoned for a cab just in 
time to catch the boat. Reaching his room on 
board, he flung himself into a chair and 

breathed a sigh of relief. 

After a little rest, he turned to his valise 
to see if everything was all right. The note 
on top caught his eye, but he did not open it. 
Having assured himself that everything was 
there that could be put there, he closed the 
grip, the note falling out on the floor. He 
picked it up, saw a lot of crosses for kisses, 
shrugged his shoulders, and threw the note 
into the corner of the room. 

Felice meanwhile was mentally picturing 

his delight when he should open the grip 

[ 123 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

and get the note. She had intended going 
to see Father Boone very soon, but now she 
put it off. She thought that after his return 
it might not be necessary at all. 

Grace came home from school, and, on 
being told that Daddy would be away for a 
couple of weeks, her eyes began to fill. 
Mother kissed her, and said it would be 
for his good, that he was all run down, and 
that he would come back the same Daddy 
he used to be before business claimed him 
entirely. 

Felice was congratulating herself that she 
had been patient, as Father Boone had di¬ 
rected, and that all Jerry’s thoughts of her 
would be pleasant. She was convinced that 
at heart he was the same good boy that he 
was when his whole world was wife and 
daughter. 

The first day out, Jerry slept nearly all 
day. He was really exhausted. He did not 
think he could sleep at all the next night. 
To his surprise he slept better than ever. 
The second day he desired a little companion¬ 
ship. Naturally shy outside of business, he 
was slow to mix with the passengers. 

On board was a vaudeville company, ‘‘The 

[ 124 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


JNorthern Stars,’’ on its way to an engage¬ 
ment in Jamaica and the South. The third 
day out this company gave an impromptu per¬ 
formance. Among the artists was a girl of 
twenty-two, a dancer. Stella Gray was her 
stage name, and no one knew her by any 
other. Young as she was, she already had 
had two love affairs. 

At nineteen she was married to a man of 
thirty-six, who for a few months lavished 
every attention upon her. He was, however, 
a man about town, always seeking new diver¬ 
sion, gratifying every whim, and living only 
for novelty of one kind or another. He tired 
of Stella, as he had tired of others before her, 
as his kind tire of everything, even them¬ 
selves. 

Stella went back to the stage whence he 
took her, and was now with this company. 
She was pretty, not beautiful. Most of her 
attractiveness was superficial, but her danc¬ 
ing was artistic. She was known among her 
associates as an easy woman. Her lovers were 
quickly won and quickly relinquished. 

No fool is like an old fool. Jerry was not 
so old—he was this side of forty—but he was 
old enough by reason of business and sup- 

[ 125 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

posed grievances to be ripe for a girl like 
Stella. He was simple, too, outside of busi¬ 
ness. The only women he knew were those 
of his own household and a few like them. 
He knew them to be what they appeared 

to be. 

He thought Stella was what she looked, an 
innocent little thing, an angel. He was a 
man with a grievance. He was out of touch 
with his family. His wife did not understand 
him. His world was not hers. She could not 
rise with his rise. She did not appreciate 
him. Instead of congratulating him on his 
business success, she referred to it, when she 
did deign to notice it, as horrid business. Yet 
this business made him the man of conse¬ 
quence he was. 

He began to think that he had married too 
young. He should have waited until he 
made his mark in the world. Then he could 
have chosen the right kind of woman. He 
was just now very lonesome. There was no 
one. to share his thoughts. He craved sym¬ 
pathy. Little had he received at home since 
his rise in the world. 

Felice was a mill-stone around his neck. 

But he must endure it to the end, he sup- 

[ 126 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

posed. That was the Church’s law. If he 
were not a Catholic, he could get freedom. 
He had just cause. Felice was absolutely in¬ 
compatible, absolutely. Of course there was 
Grace. She was all right, except for her 
mother. He was a wealthy man now, he had 
risen by his own efforts. Had the Church a 
right to interfere with his prospects? Had 
it a right to enter his home? 

He knew lots of men, honest men, honor¬ 
able men, big men, in the financial world, and 
they did not bother with church. After all, 
why should a man have to go to Mass on 
Sunday? Why could he not worship God in 
his heart? After all, real religion is to be 
honest, to be charitable. He could do that 
without going to Mass on Sunday. He had 
succeeded in business because he was honest. 
He had not gone to Mass of late, but he 
was just as successful as before, and he gave 
largely to charities. 

“If Mass is not necessary, why is the rest 
of it necessary? What’s the sense in being 
tied up to a woman forever, just because the 
Church says so? A good marriage is all 
right, like any satisfactory bargain, but if 
the woman turns out altogether different from 

[ 127 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

what she appeared, why protract a sham to 
the end—‘till death do us part’? 

“All these fellows outside the Church are 
not fools. All the brains are not in the 
Church. Most of the men in my financial 
world have nothing to do with church. No 
wonder I gave it up. I’ll have it out with 
Felice when I get back, and unless she gives 
me guarantee that she’ll stop nagging. I’ll 
see whether or not Father Boone’s ‘till death 
do us part’ will mean anything! ” 

Meantime, far off in Manhattan, Felice 
was talking over with Grace all the nice things 
they would do for his comfort and peace on 
his return. 

“Not that we’ve not done everything be¬ 
fore, Grace darling, but we must try extra 
now, because he’s not quite himself on ac¬ 
count of the big burden he’s been carrying.” 

“Yes, mother dear, and I want you to 
promise me something. You must not cry any 
more. You didn’t see me, but I saw you last 
evening and this morning when you were in 
tears.” 

“I’ll do my best, dear. If you see me that 
way again, you just come up and scold me.” 

“But why do you cry, mother?” 

[ 128 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

can’t explain, dear, you wouldn’t under¬ 
stand.” 

“I understand already, mother dear, it’s 
on Daddy’s account.” 

‘‘Well, yes, it is. You see, he is such a 
dear and so good to us when he’s himself. 
But he’s not been himself lately. There’s 
lots you don’t know, but in many ways he has 
shown me that business has crowded both of 
us out of his heart, and that breaks my 
heart.” 

“Don’t cry, mother dear, when he comes 
back we’ll just make him love us.” 

“Perhaps Pm to blame, although I know 
that since the talk with Father Boone Pve 
been patient, oh, so patient. Pve never 
crossed him in anything, and Pve done every¬ 
thing for him that love could suggest.” 

“You mustn’t think of blaming yourself, 
mother dear. He’s down on me too for some 
reason, and Pve always loved him with a great 
big love. He has not kissed me now for some 
months, and it’s breaking my heart!” 

“You crying, too! Mamma’s darling!” 
and they both mingled their tears. 

After a while: “I wonder what he’s doing 
now. Darling?” 


[ 129 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“I know, mother. He’s saying that he has 
the best little wifie in the world.” 

“And the best little girlie, Grace.” 

“I’m sure, mother, he misses us.” 

“I’m certain he does. You know he is shy, 
slow to mingle with others. By now he’s 
rested and knows how much we love him. 
Oh, I wish I were with him. He’s such a 
poor hand at doing for himself. I’d just 
love to do some little things for him that I 
know he likes. Men are so helpless some¬ 
times with all their strength. But never 
mind, darling, when he comes back we’ll 
make him think he’s in heaven.” 


[ 130 ] 


V 


‘‘'W THO’S that swell guy sitting over 

there, Dolly?” 

▼ T “Never saw him before, 

Stella. Guess he’s the ship-owner.” 

“Pretty lonesome chap! ” 

“Very.” 

“Here comes Charlie, he knows everybody. 
Hey, you Charlie, who’s His Nibs over 
there?” 

“Where?” 

“That swell-looking chap sitting over 
there.” 

“Oh, that’s Sir Thomas Glum,” and 
Charlie passed on with a knowing wink. 

‘T guess he’s one of those Wall Street fel¬ 
lows off for a break.” 

“Let’s go fishing and find out something 
about him. It’s good sport on this dull boat. 
This is positively the slowest crowd I ever 
struck.” 

^Wou can go it alone, Stella, if you want. 
Count me out. He looks like one of those 

fellows who’d eat your head off.” 

[ 131 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


“He wouldn’t have much to eat if he got 
yours, Dolly. So long. I’ll report later.” 

About fifteen minutes afterward Stella 
was passing in front of where Jerry was sit¬ 
ting. She was holding a book in her right 
hand, which was nearest his chair. Suddenly, 
as if by accident, she slipped, and in throwing 
up her arms to save herself, the book fell 
at the feet of Burke. With alacrity, he 
jumped up, and reaching down for the book, 
lost his balance and fell. 

Stella’s plan had succeeded even better than 
she had hoped. At most, she anticipated an 
opening for conversation when he should 
hand her the book. But now she was able to 
play the Good Samaritan. 

Hurrying to where he lay, she said most 
sympathetically: 

“I’m so sorry I’ve caused you this annoy¬ 
ance.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have 
fallen.” 

“Do let me brush off the side of your 
coat,” and, suiting the action to the word, she 
began to dust off some imaginary specks with 
her tiny handkerchief. 

Fact is often stronger than fancy. Every 

[ 132 ] 


for better for worse 

day we near of sensible men doing foolish 
things. It is possible for a great leader of 
men to be himself led by a silly woman. 
With some men common sense seems to take 
flight at the approach of a certain type of 
woman. In no other way can we explain the 
inconsistencies which daily confront us. It 
is not infrequently a capable man who is the 
victim of an adventuress. 

Burke was a capable man. But he was so 
absorbed in business that he had cared for 
nothing else. As regards knowledge of 
women, he was a simpleton. He knew only 
those in his immediate circle. He had never 
dissipated in any sense of the word. Women 
had never been his conversation nor his in¬ 
dulgence. First his home, but latterly his 
business engaged his thoughts. Moreover, he 
had an abnormal craving for appreciation. 
He liked to be complimented. He was vain 
of his success. Felice knew this, and, until 
his infatuation with business, had let no suc¬ 
cess of his pass without due praise. Of late 
she had never praised him. She dared not, 
for she realized that his success was beginning 
to be his misfortune. 

A simpleton in regard to women, and a 

[ 133 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

craver of sympathy, and moreover at present 
in a run-down condition, such was Burke. 

He was glad of the accident. What a 
pleasure it was to hear the voice of a sym¬ 
pathetic woman! If this were Felice, she 
would have got angry and scolded. Being 
bashful and embarrassed, he did not know 
just what to do or say. 

“You didn’t hurt yourself?” she continued. 

For reply, he blushed. 

Stella was a sharp observer. She realized 
at once that all the advances must be made on 
her side. As propriety was the least of her 
worries, she cooed: 

“You seem quite upset. I hope you’re 
not hurt. Perhaps we’d better sit down a 
while.” 

They sat down close to each other. How 
different from Felice! Meanwhile Stella had 
her victim measured to a nicety. She pro¬ 
ceeded. 

“I fancy you’re one of those men who have 
to get away from the cares of business some¬ 
times.” 

“It’s not business, I can handle that.” 

“It’s surely not home trouble?” 

That was a bold stab. Stella had hardly 

[ 134 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

made it when she feared she had struck too 
soon. But not too soon for Simple Simon. 

^^Pm afraid it is.” 

“Oh, dear me, how could anyone make 
trouble for such a man as you!” 

This was balm for the feelings of Jerry. 
Imagine Felice saying anything so consid¬ 
erate ! 

Shy as he was, he ventured: “Some women 
have no sympathy.” 

“I don’t understand how any woman could 
help being—” she hesitated what to say. 
She must not lose her catch. Still, he swal¬ 
lowed the bait so readily, she resumed after 
a sigh: “I don’t see how any woman could 
help being nice to you.” 

Just then along came Dolly. She was en¬ 
vious of Stella’s success and determined to 
share or thwart it. As she joined them, Jerry 
shut up like a clam. Stella flashed all sorts 
of messages to Dolly, but without effect. In 
a few moments, Jerry arose, bowed to the 
“ladies,” and withdrew to his cabin. 

His instincts were good. He began to feel 
that he had wronged his wife. But what a 
charming person that girl was 1 However, he 
was tied up to an incompatible woman, and 

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FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


there was no way out of it for him. Still, 
there was a limit. He had borne about all a 
man could stand from his wife. What was 
the use of two lives being made miserable? 

And all the while the cooing voice and 
tender eyes of Stella were arguing with and 
for him. In his depressed state of mind, he 
was easy prey for soft eyes and a sweet voice. 
Stella at that moment was his ideal of woman. 

What little things make or mar us! Had 
Jerry taken that trip a week earlier or later, 
there had been no Stella in his path. The 
trip would have benefited him in body and 
mind. It would have given him a normal 
outlook on life, and he would have seen 
Felice as she was, the truest and loveliest of 
women. But he had hardly got away from 
business, that medium through which he 
viewed everything, when a worse danger be¬ 
set him. 

Business absorption may make a man in¬ 
considerate, woman absorption makes a man 
blind. Business may harden a man to those 
dearest to him, infatuation with a woman 
makes a man a beast to all except the object 
of his passion. 

Had Jerry not met Stella, the trip would 

[ 136 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

have brushed the commercial cobwebs from 
his vision, he would have seen business in its 
true perspective, and he would have seen his 
home as it was, the most charming home a 
man could desire. Had he met Stella on the 
return trip she would not have interested him. 

But she came at the psychological moment. 
He was fatigued, nervous, lonesome. His 
lonesomeness would have been healthy under 
ordinary circumstances. It would have em¬ 
phasized the worth of Felice and increased 
the love for her which was always deep down 
in his heart. 

His very irritability toward Felice and 
Grace was proof of his love. The human 
heart has at times a strange way of mani¬ 
festing love. A tired business man who has 
been obliged to repress himself all day to 
patrons and associates, unbends in the com¬ 
pany of those who impose no restraints, and 
vents his pent-up feelings on his loved ones. 
Too often manners are kept for strangers, and 
evil humors for the home. 

It is certain that, had Jerry had a breath¬ 
ing spell, he would have returned a loving 
husband and devoted father. All his griev¬ 
ances were imaginary, the result of the ter- 

[ 137 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

rific business pace he had set. But, for the 
moment, real or imaginary, they made him 
good soil for growth of rankest weeds. When 
weeds invade rich soil, their growth is pro¬ 
digious. 

Had Jerry not turned his back on his 
Church, he would have been impossible soil 
for a weed like Stella. But man, without 
reverence for a Power above, is soil fit for 
rankest growth. Even with a realization of 
an all-seeing God, man is weak under certain 
circumstances, but without that realization, he 
only awaits the occasion to fall. Stella fur¬ 
nished Jerry the occasion. 

After a more or less restless night, during 
which his newly-found divinity occupied most 
of his conscious moments, Jerry arose late, 
breakfasted, and afterward sought a quiet cor¬ 
ner of the deck for a nap. He had dozed for 
about an hour, when he felt a presence near 
him. Opening his eyes, he beheld Stella, 
who, with back toward him, but deliberately 
making enough noise to awaken him and be 
observed by him, was arranging a little con¬ 
trivance to keep the sun from striking his 
face. 

It took him some time to realize the situa- 

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FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

tion. When he perceived that she was doing 
this very delicate kindness to him, all un¬ 
known to him, it magnified her lovableness to 
an almost adorable degree. Imagine Felice 
being so thoughtful! For of course, from 
now on, Felice must be only a term of com¬ 
parison by which to measure the perfections 
of this angel. He was overcome with tender 
feelings toward her. Should he let her know 
that he observed? 

He was hesitating, when she, knowing per¬ 
fectly well that she had awakened him, said 
as if to herself: “The dear man, he’s tired and 
lonesome, and mustn’t be disturbed by the 
naughty sun.” 

Jerry thought what a dear little innocent 
she was. ^^Naughty sun!” Just like a big 
child. She turned suddenly, and seeing his 
eyes fixed on her, was seemingly filled with 

confusion. 

“Oh, dear me, what a tattle-tale! I 
thought to do this little nothing and tip-toe 
oflF without anyone’s being the wiser. You’ll 
pardon me, won’t you, for presuming? But 
you were so kind to me yesterday I could not 
get you out of my mind. And when I saw 

the naughty sun trying to annoy you, I just 

[ 139 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

had to scold him and shut him out as best 
I could.” 

Jerry was tongue-tied. If it were business, 
he could talk on equal footing with anyone. 
But this was not business. He was at sea in 
more senses than one. Jerry was no fool in 
business. Jerry was a big fool in an affair 
with a woman. Stella had his exact meas¬ 
ure. 

“If you don’t mind, now that you’re so 
wide awake. I’ll show you some of my press 
notices. I was sorting them when I saw the 
naughty sun bothering you. Would you care 
to see what the papers say of me?” 

Without awaiting his reply, she was at his 
side immediately. It was an entirely new 
experience for Jerry. He was thrilled by his 
proximity to a celebrity, and such a celebrity! 
She read notice after notice of her work. The 
reviews were for the most part favorable, 
some of them extravagantly so. 

While this was going on, Jerry had a slight 
return to sanity. He was asking himself why 
this complete stranger was making such a con¬ 
fidant of him. 

She seemed to read his thoughts, for she 

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FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

interrupted a glowing criticism to say: “But 
Pm taking it for granted that these interest 
you. I don’t know why I ventured to read 
them.” 

Her voice was so soothing and her eyes so 
languishing that Jerry lost his head again. 

“Oh, it’s hard to explain likes and dislikes,” 
he said. “It’s the same way in business. 
With some men you feel very communicative, 
with others you shut up like a clam.” 

“Then you’re a business man?” 

“Yes, that’s my life.” He said more than 
he realized. 

^ As she looked admiringly at the business 
man, he caught inspiration from her wor¬ 
shipful gaze, and continued: 

“Yes, I’m a business man—automobiles— 
worked up from nothing, now vice-president 
—worked a bit too hard, so must rest up.” 

“So you’re one of the great captains of 
finance! ” 

That hit the bull’s-eye, especially the way 
it was said. Here was a woman who could 
understand him, realize the merit of his 
achievements, admire him. Again the con¬ 
trast. Poor Felice! What a blessing that 

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FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Jerry’s thoughts were not broadcasted to her. 
If he had only met this charming creature 
some fifteen years previously, what a diflFer- 
ent life his had been! What an inspiration 
she would be to a man of ambition like him¬ 
self! 

“Isn’t it wonderful to feel that you are a 
great power in the financial world?” 

Again a bull’s-eye. 

Stella saw she was shooting straight at the 
mark. As no reply came from “the great 
power in the financial world,” she took silence 
for acquiescence and proceeded to glorify him 
and to sympathize with him. 

Next morning as he was unpacking his 
valise—for until now he had only taken the 
necessary things from the top, and everything 
was so nicely arranged by Felice that they 
came to hand just as he needed them—he 
found near the bottom a tiny envelope. 

Opening it, he read: 


“Jerry dear, 

“We hope that by the time you find 
this you will be a million times better. 
Grace and I will pray for you every 
day until you return. Here are a bil¬ 
lion kisses XXXX from us both. 

“Felice and Grace.” 

[U2] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

That note infuriated him. Why couldn’t 
they let him alone. Must they be nagging 
him abroad as well as at home? Stella would 
know better how to treat a man of power in 
the financial world. 

Yes, Stella did know better how to deal 
with a great captain of industry. She and 
Dolly had put their heads together as to the 
best way to bleed this great power in the 
financial world. 

‘^The old fool fell for everything I said, 
Dolly.” 

“My, but you were shrewd, Stel!” 

“Shrewd nothing. A pin-head could do it. 
He’s the easiest mark ever.” 

“Well, how do you propose to work the 
mine?” 

“Leave that to me. He’s a ^power in the 
financial world.’ Leave this ‘power’ to your 
auntie.” 

“But really, Stel, he’s a big fish, and you 
want to play him carefully, or he’ll get off the 
hook.” 

“Not off the hook he’s swallowed.” 

“Well, what’s your game anyway?” 

“Well, listen, Dolly. He’s green to begin 

with. He thinks I’m an angel. Stop gig- 

[ 143 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

gling! He told me I was his ideal. Stop 
snickering, or Pll quit right now.” 

’Scuse me, Stel, but it’s as good as a 

show.” 

^Well, as I am his ideal, of course I must 
continue that way. From what he tells me of 
his wife, she’s got all the common sense of 
the pair. I can see exactly where she’s the 
right kind. The poor mutt was getting dippy 
over business, and she only tried to save him. 
He’s in a bad way now—not for me though, 
Dolly, he’s just ripe for picking.” 

^‘How will you work him?” 

“He’s different from the ordinary fellow, 
Doll. He’d drop me like a hot coal if he 
thought I wasn’t straight. My game is going 
to be innocence. I’m a dear simple little 
child, full of sympathy and never so really 
attached to anyone in my life. It must be 
marriage or nothing.” 

“But you haven’t got your divorce yet from 
your second husband.” 

“Oh, Simple, do you suppose I’d hitch up 
with him? Not on your life. But I’ll lead 
him on. You’ll see the rest for yourself. 

Ta-ta, now, Dolly dear. If you want an auto- 

[ 144 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

mobile or a diamond ring, just drop me a 
note. Pll be flush soon. Ta-ta!” 

It was the fourth day out. That evening 
Felice and Grace were sitting together silent. 
Each knew where the other’s thoughts were. 

^‘He must be very lonesome by now, Grace 
darling.” 

“Not any lonesomer than we, mother.” 
“Pve got a happy thought, darling. We’ll 
send him a telegram-letter, to be waiting for 
him at Kingston.” 

“Oh, mother, how lovely!” 

A half-hour later they made a final draft 
of the telegram. 


“Dear Daddy: We are with you in 
thought every day, and all day long, and 
most of the night too. Half this letter 
is mine and half is Darling’s. Darling’s 
eyes are filled and so are mine, as we 
read this over before sending. But 
although we are dying to see you, don’t 
hurry home. Take a good rest. You 
need it. Come back to us, your old 
dear loving self. Your dear Felice and 
darling Grace.” 


Grace ran out to send the telegram. Felice 
went to her picture album. On her return, 

[14S] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Grace found her mother with head resting on 
arms, which lay on the album on the table. 
She tip-toed close, and threw her arms around 
her mother. 


[ 146 ] 


VI 


A rrived at Kingston, Jerry left the 
boat, walking alongside Stella. The 
L day before they were together on 
deck a good deal. Stella began to realize that 
she was getting a hold on him. In her heart 
she despised him. 

As they stepped on the pier, several names 
were called out for whom telegrams were at 
the office. Jerry was surprised to hear his 
name. 

He said to Stella: ^Tt’s business of some 
sort. You see, when a man has big responsi¬ 
bilities they follow him even at sea.” 

“What a shame they can’t let you alone, 
even for a few days!” 

Excusing himself, he went to the office for 
the telegram. It brought him to earth for 
a moment, this anticipation of a business mes¬ 
sage. He was a changed man as he stood at 
the desk asking about a telegram for Jere¬ 
miah Burke. If Stella had seen him then, 
she would have been either too timid to pur- 

[ 147 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

sue her advances or else very proud of her 
success so far. As a man of business, Jere¬ 
miah Burke measured large. 

The telegram was handed to him. He 
held it for a moment in his hand, surmising 
what its contents were. He had left every¬ 
thing in good shape and given orders not to 
write or wire him. What could have tran¬ 
spired to make a telegram necessary? 

Mechanically he opened the envelope. 
When he saw from whom the message was, 
he became purple with anger. Without read¬ 
ing it, he crumpled it in his hand and tore it 
into bits. 

“She hounds me at home and pursues me 
elsewhere. She’s impossible. It will have 
to end!” 

Stella approaching, he tried to assume a 
calm attitude, but the storm was too violent 
to subside. 

“No bad news, I hope, Mr. Burke?” 

“No, just another instance of that woman. 
She nags me at home and continues it when 
Pm away. The idea of a telegram!” 

“Oh, forget it!” 

“That’s what I’m trying to do. That’s 
why I came away. And that’s what makes 

[H8] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

me angry—that I can’t forget it. She won’t 
let me.” 

Stella found his mood her opportunity. By 
sympathy and flattery she ingratiated herself 
with him to the extent that she seemed an 
angel of comfort and loveliness. 

It was common gossip among her theatrical 
associates that Stella was on a new Venture. 
They knew that her last worshiper was 
dropped only a short while before, and were 
not a little surprised at her matrimonial 
speed. However, Stella was not after matri¬ 
mony, but money. She had a lover in dis¬ 
tress, and it was for him she was now plotting 
and working. 

It was her first real love affair. The others 
were mere adventures. He was a young 
artist, whose art was superior to his business 
ability, for, in spite of his extraordinary 
talent, he was unable to maintain his studio. 
Stella had given him a sitting while her last 
divorce was pending. It developed into mu¬ 
tual love, her first genuine sentiment, and his 
also. 

She had joined “The Northern Stars” in 
order to help him. In mid-season it was hard 

to get an engagement, so she took what of- 

[ 149 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


fered and joined this company now on tour. 
She knew men, especially middle-aged men. 
She had observed the delighted interest in her 
dancing which Jerry showed at the perform¬ 
ance on board, and it had occurred to her that 
she could cultivate him for the benefit of her 
lover. 

The company was to remain at Kingston 
five days. Burke was to go back to New York 
by return boat. He forgot all about the re¬ 
turn boat in his interest in Stella, whom, how¬ 
ever, he never saw except in public. Mean¬ 
while, five telegrams had reached him from 
New York. Not one of them did he open. 
He would not give his wife the satisfaction 
of hearing from her. He let them lie on 
his dresser, unopened. 

The fifth day came. The company made 
ready for the boat which was to take them 
to San Juan, Porto Rico. At the last moment, 
Jerry decided to make the trip, as Stella had 
anticipated. Rushing to his room, he brushed 
everything in sight into his bag, and hastily 
took his way to the pier. He had barely 
boarded the vessel when the crew unleashed 
her, and she moved away from dock. 

Entering his cabin, he threw his bag on the 

[150J 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


bed, and fell into a chair, exhausted. He was 
puffing and blowing like a porpoise. After 
a while, he was himself, and, desiring to make 
some toilet arrangements before going on deck 
to see Stella, he opened his bag. It was 
packed so tightly and so hurriedly that, when 
the cover was released, some of the contents 
burst out, the telegrams among the rest. 

The sight of the telegrams put him into a 
rage. He was about to tear them in bits, 
when he thought he would see what she had 
to say anyway. He opened the first one that 
came to hand. It was dated that very day. 
To his astonishment, he saw it was from his 
company, not from his wife. The Dudle)^ 
Motor Company was the sender. 

Beads of perspiration came out on his fore¬ 
head as he read: 


“Why don’t you answer our wire? 
Unless we hear from you by six p.m. 
to-day, we shall close the deal. 

“The Dudley Motor Company, 

“J. R. Morris, Sec.” 


He picked up the telegrams, five alto¬ 
gether, and arranging them in the order of 

their dates, began to read them. 

[151] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


The first ran as follows; 

“The Dunham Car Company makes 
us a flattering offer to consolidate with 
them. Wire your opinion. 

(Signed) “James White, Pres.*’ 


Tossing the telegram to the farthest end of 
the room, he stamped his foot, gesticulated 
angrily, and gave every indication of fury. 
It was some time before he could utter words 
other than curses. 

“That villain Douglas! He waited until 
I was out of reach before he tried his crooked 
work. He knew that I knew his company 
was on the rocks. Why didn’t I leave a 
memorandum not to have anything to do 
with him! Through a misdirected message 
I learned he was on the verge of bankruptcy 
and a crook, and now that I’m away, he tries 
to tie us up with him. 

“And he’s a plausible devil. If I did not 
have the data of the misdirected message, I 
would have entertained his proposition. He 
sank a fortune in publicity, not to establish a 
business, but to catch a sucker.” 

Purple with rage, he took up telegram 
No. 2: 


[ 152 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“Waiting word from you. Came on 
from Chicago hoping to meet you. 
Dunham people have fine proposition. 

Wire what you advise. Douglas says 
you understand and approve. 

“Dudley Motor Company, 

“James White, Pres.” 

“Douglas says I approve! Dog! It will 
ruin us. We need every dollar, now that 
we have branched out. We’ll sink with 
Douglas if this goes through.” 

There was a rapping on the door. He paid 
no attention to it. 

A voice outside: “Mr. Burke, I say, Mr. 
Burke, when are you coming on deck? It’s 
Stella.” 

“Stella be-! ” He paid no more atten¬ 

tion to her than if she were a cat purring. 

After knocking again and waiting a while, 
she walked oflF, thinking that he was on deck 
looking for her. 

“That Douglas is a crook. I saw through 
him. I told him we didn’t want to touch his 
stuff. Villain, liar, thief! He works in the 
dark. When I am on the high seas, he mis¬ 
represents me and uses me as a tool.” 

While uttering this invective, he had 

opened telegram No. 3: 

[153] 



FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


“Two days and no reply. Inquired 
at ship’s office, vessel arrived Kingston 
all on board six days ago. If ill, send 
reply by messenger. Biggest proposi¬ 
tion pending. Could go ahead but pre¬ 
fer to wait your judgment, as you know 
conditions in the East. Douglas won’t 
wait. Has good offer from other 
people. Wire at once. 

(Signed) “White.” 

He was angry before. This put him in a 
towering rage. He swore, he stamped, he 
threatened, he imprecated. Telegram No. 4 
lay on the table looking at him. He feared 
to open it. Suddenly snatching it and tearing 
it open, he almost gasped as he realized its 
contents. 

“Have put off Douglas a day. Thing 
so good others after it. Have tried to 
reach you by radio in case you are on 
way back. If this reaches you, wire or 
radio at once, otherwise deal goes 
through. 

(Signed) “White.” 

He rushed for the door, ran to the office, 
burst in upon the purser, and asked if he 
could send a radiogram. He was told that 
they were installing a radio plant, but that it 
was not ready for work yet. He could hardly 

[154] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

contain his feelings as he asked when the boat 
would reach San Juan. On being told “in 
three days’ time,” he turned pale. He saw in 
a flash the ruin of his business, of his life. 

And it was all due to Felice. If she had 
not sent the fool telegram, he would have 
read and replied to the business telegram at 
once. By now, he would have been in New 
York. By now, he would have had Douglas 
by the neck. By now—but what’s the use! 
So his thoughts ran. Stella was clear out of 
his mind. 

But he was not out of hers. Carefully had 
she been planning for her own advantage. 
She knew he would follow her to San Juan, 
but she was not sure of his stay there. She 
made up her mind to haul in her line before 
reaching port. 

She waited in vain. All the first day, 
Burke kept his cabin. He was dazed. He 
felt like a rat in a trap. No matter how he 
turned, he saw disaster. And he put all the 
blame on Felice. That fool telegram of 
hers! He ate nothing the whole day. He 
slept not a moment during the entire night. 
His utter incapacity to say or do anything 

was his greatest anguish. 

[155] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

He awoke next day with a severe headache. 
It grew worse and worse, developing into 
nausea. At noon he rang for the ship’s physi¬ 
cian. While the doctor was with him, he had 
a severe vomiting spell. It was a violent 
bilious attack, the result of his wining and din¬ 
ing with Stella, accentuated by his nervous 
exasperation over the telegrams. 

While it lasts, there is no sickness more dis¬ 
tressing than nausea. While in its throes, one 
wonders how anyone can eat or laugh or find 
life worth living. Burke had never been ill 
before. Such a one is the worst victim of 
any malady. His illness of body was bad 
enough, that of his mind was worse. He 
was going through a hell, and, what was 
worse, he began to realize that it was of his 
own making. 

For two days he was so sick that he could 
hardly hold his head up. Nothing stayed 
on his stomach. He felt the need of nour¬ 
ishment, but the sight of it revolted him. 
When they arrived at Ponce, he was too ill 
to rise from bed. Stella and her company 
had to take train at once for San Juan to 
fill an engagement which was to begin the 
following day. She tried to see Jerry, but 

[156] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

on learning of his condition, decided that her 
game was up. With the others, she boarded 
the train for San Juan. 

About four in the afternoon Jerry was 
placed in a roller chair and taken to a hotel. 


[ 157 ] 


VII 


F elice, not hearing from Jerry for 
some ten days, began to be anxious 
about him. Why did he not send 
her word on his arrival at Kingston? Then 
she remembered that he was to come back by 
return boat, and concluded he was preparing 
a surprise for Grace and herself. 

She phoned the Steamship Company to in¬ 
quire when the boat was due in New York, 
and was told that the boat on which he left 
for Jamaica was due in New York the next 
day. Although she had made the same cal¬ 
culation herself, the definite information 
thrilled her. 

On Grace’s return from school, Felice 
opened her arms to receive her, and, pressing 
her to her breast, whispered: “This time to¬ 
morrow we shall have Daddy with us.” 

Grace jumped for joy. All that evening 
and the next day, they were able to talk of 
nothing else but his coming. Everything they 
could think of which they thought would 
please him they set out to do. Now that he 

was away from them, they remembered only 

[158] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

his good side. The past years of business ab¬ 
sorption and neglect of them was a blank. 
He was again ‘‘Daddy dear.” 

Felice was actually singing all day. Curi¬ 
ously enough, the snatches of song which she 
kept singing or humming were from “Pina¬ 
fore,” the rehearsals for which first brought 
Jerry and herself together. She felt again 
as she did during courtship, except that her 
joy was deeper, more mature. 

“Poor boy,” she often repeated, “it was for 
us he was working all the time, not for him¬ 
self. He simply overdid it. He was not 
himself of late. From now on, he’ll take his 
business sensibly, and home will be home 
again.” 

And little Grace was saying to herself: 
“Daddy’s a good Daddy, the very best 
Daddy. He won’t make mamma cry any 
more, and he won’t make Darling run away 
and hide and be afraid of him any more.” 

On the morning of the day of the vessel’s 
arrival, they debated whether they should 
go to the pier or await him at home. 

“O mother, do let’s go to greet him. He’ll 
be looking for us. Let’s be the first ones he 
sees!” 


[ 159 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

‘‘Pd be afraid, darling, I might make a 
scene, and that wouldn’t please him. Pd be 
so overjoyed. Pm sure I couldn’t contain my¬ 
self.” 

“Yes, mother dear, you could. You just 
make up your mind you can. That’s what 
Pm going to do.” 

“Well, we shall see, darling.” 

As the hour drew near, Felice became so 
agitated that she lost control of herself alto¬ 
gether. She began to realize that it would 
be foolish of her to go to the pier. It was a 
disappointment for Grace, but the child con¬ 
cealed her feelings for her mother’s sake, and 
made the best of it. 

The vessel was due at eleven in the morn¬ 
ing. Grace of course did not go to school 
this day. Mother and daughter were dressed 
and waiting for Daddy long before the boat 
was due. Their best dinner was in prepara¬ 
tion, and everything was in readiness for the 
return of the Lord of the Castle. Eleven 
o’clock came finally. It was so long in 
coming. 

“O mother, he’s here now. I just can’t 
help jumping and clapping hands and shout- 


[ 160 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“Run outside a while, darling, and leave 
mother for a few moments.” 

Scarcely was Grace out of doors when 
Felice’s eyes filled. Tears often are greater 
indications of joy than laughter. Soon Grace 
came running in. 

“He’s not in sight yet, mother. I looked 
and looked. But, mother, what’s the matter? 
Don’t cry, mother. Dry your eyes. Daddy 
mustn’t see you sad.” And she kissed away 
the tears that were trickling down her 
mother’s cheeks. 

Twelve o’clock came. No Daddy yet. 
Both were now on edge. 

“I suppose, darling, he had to go to the 
office first. But he’ll phone us any minute. 
Tell the maid to hold back the dinner.” 

One o’clock. No Daddy. No phone. 
“Mother, perhaps he’s ill. He must be. 
Nothing else could keep him from us.” 

“Perhaps, darling, but I do hope he’ll get 
some word to us soon.” 

Three o’clock. The phone began to ring. 
Both jumped to their feet as if electrified. 
Both ran to the receiver. 

“Oh, the dear boy. O Jerry dear!” 

“O Daddy, Daddy, darling Daddy!” 

[ 161 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

They were both up in the clouds. Heaven 
was very near. Felice hastily took up the 
receiver. She was all a-tremble. Grace was 
on tip-toe with excitement. A moment of 
intense silence. Their hearts could almost 
be heard thumping against their breasts. 

^‘Mrs. Burke?” 

She dropped the receiver. Grace caught 
it. That ‘‘Mrs. Burke” was a dagger thrust. 
She was all set for: “Felice?” She fell in a 
chair. It was not Jerry. Nothing else 
mattered. Grace, with eyes on her mother 
and the receiver to her ear, heard a strange 
voice. 

“It’s not Daddy, mother. A man wants to 
speak to you, to Mrs. Burke, no one else.” 

Mechanically Felice took up the receiver. 
She was calm now. It was all over. The 
blow had been delivered. She was ready for 
anything, everything. 

“Yes, this is Mrs. Burke.” 

The second that intervened seemed an age. 
What was next? A thousand distressing 
thoughts ran through her brain. But she 
was calm, calm with that awful calm of des¬ 
peration, awaiting the worst. 

“This is the Dudley Motor Company.” 

[ 162 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“Yes.” 

“Will you please ask Mr. Burke to come 
to the phone?” 

“Mr. Burke?” 

“Yes, Mr. Burke, Jeremiah Burke. This 
is the president of the Company.” 

“Mr. Burke is not in.” 

“Who is this, please?” 

“Mrs. Burke.” 

“Oh, I beg pardon, Mrs. Burke. I did 
not know I was speaking to Mrs. Burke. You 
see, we were expecting Mr. Burke to-day 
from Jamaica. I thought possibly we missed 
him at the pier, and that he had gone directly 
home.” 

Unless Felice had been steeled for the 
worst, this would have felled her. 

Suppressing her feelings as much as pos¬ 
sible, she replied: “We were expecting him 
too, but he has not come. I am certain if he 
had arrived he would be with us now.” 

“Did you get a wire from him?” 

“N-n-no.” 

“Haven’t you heard from him since he 
left? I beg pardon, I don’t wish to be at all 
intrusive, but we have been trying to reach 

him, without result. Something very im- 

[163] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

portant has turned up, and his presence is 
imperative. As soon as you hear from him, 
won’t you please tell him to get into com¬ 
munication with us at once?” 

By now, Felice was in a state of collapse. 
She could barely say ‘‘Yes” in reply and hang 
up the receiver. Grace, who was all ears, 
heard the message with alarm. Her fears 
were not only for “Daddy,” but also for 
“mother.” Felice sank into a chair, abso¬ 
lutely limp. Grace spoke not a word, but 
their thoughts met. Both realized the sig¬ 
nificance of the message. Something dread¬ 
ful must have happened. Was it illness, or 
accident, or—or—a thousand things crowded 
into their surmises. 

After a time, Felice heaved a sigh, arose, 
went to the phone, and called up the tele¬ 
graph office. 

“A telegram, please, to Jamaica, British 
West Indies. Address to Jeremiah Burke, 
Hotel, Hospital or Steamship, U. S. Line. 

“ ‘What is the matter? Wire at 
once. Don’t fear. Suspense is worse 
than the worst. 

(Signed) “ ‘Felice.’ ” 

[ 16 +] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

She fell into rather than sat down in the 
big armchair near the phone. Grace was at 
her side instantly, sitting on the arm of the 
chair and fondling her. 

‘‘Daddy’s all right, mumma. God will 
bring him back to us. Kiss Darling, that’s a 
good mumma.” 

Meanwhile Felice sat dazed. Grace held 
her hand tenderly in hers. At length mother 
put her arm around daughter, ejaculating: 
“Darling, darling, darling!” 

They remained in each other’s arms in 
silence. Daddy was in the thoughts of both. 
Soon each realized that the other was pray¬ 
ing for Daddy. 


[ 165 ] 


VIII 


F or two days Jerry was dead to the 
world. The moving from steamer to 
hotel had upset him dreadfully, caus¬ 
ing renewed nausea. The hotel physician had 
diagnosed his ailment as ptomaine poisoning, 
and had proceeded to treat him accordingly. 
The treatment was worse than the ailment. 
Jerry was certainly paying taxes on his ad¬ 
venture. He began to realize that we are 
punished not only for our sins, but by our 
sins. 

Nausea, like most violent things, does not 
last forever. On the third day, Jerry began 
to pick up and to think again. His first 
thought was, not of Stella—she was history 
now—not even of Felice or Grace, but of 
business. 

Of course, even during the severest stages 
of his illness, his mind was on business, and 
especially on Douglas, “that dog.” But his 
mind was on it only as a nightmare. Every 
thought on it aggravated his condition, and 

[ 166 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


drove him deeper and deeper into despair. 
But now with returning strength, his thoughts 
on business were constructive. The first thing 
he did was to telegraph the company. 


“Dudley Motor Company, New York. 

“Have been ill. Dunham Car Com¬ 
pany bunkum. Douglas crooked. Con¬ 
cern rotten. Sure ruin. Don’t sign 
anything. 

(Signed) “Burke.” 

He next made inquiries about the first boat 
for the United States. It was three days 
hence. That enraged him. Three days! It 
would be two weeks before he was in New 
York. But he was in communication with 
his company, that was something. He wrote 
a long telegram explaining everything in de¬ 
tail and sent it off the same evening. Now 
there was nothing to do but wait. 

Felice and Grace began to enter his 
thoughts. They must be worried about him. 
Well, if it weren’t for Felice and her fool 
telegram everything would have been all 
right. However, he ought to wire them. 

Accordingly, he wrote out the following to 
send to Felice: 


[ 167 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

‘‘All right now. Ill a week. Leave 
for New York within week. 

(Signed) “Jeremiah.’’ 

He thought that that would throw her o£f 
the track. She must never know about Stella. 
After writing the telegram he absent-mind¬ 
edly put it into his pocket and forgot to send 
it. Now that he was rested and more or less 
himself, he wondered at the fool he had been. 
He put little things together, and by degrees 
came to the conclusion that Stella was an 
adventuress. Close call. The more he re¬ 
flected, the more he saw what a goose he had 
been. He began to hate the very thought of 
her. 

Being alone and far from business, his 
mind turned by degrees to his home. Con¬ 
valescence is a good rectifier. He recalled 
his comfortable room, his things always in 
order, his wishes anticipated. Soon a long¬ 
ing for home crept into his soul. Now that 
business was in the background, his wife and 
daughter assumed their rightful place in his 
mind and heart. 

He walked down to the ocean front, he 
knew not why. It may have been subcon- 

[ 168 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

scious attraction to the great stretch of water 
which was the unbroken highway between 
himself and home. Long he sat on the beach 
and thought. His illness had healed his mind 
as well as his body. Business preoccupation, 
which had clogged his brain and kept it from 
working except in one groove, seemed to have 
been dispelled by the period of reflection 
which his sickness had forced upon him. As 
he sat there looking over the rhythmic ex¬ 
panse of the deep, a calm came over his spirit. 

But only for a brief spell. That ‘‘dog” 
Douglas rushed into his thoughts again and 
again. What if he had succeeded in winning 
over the board of directors to his scheme! It 
meant the end of the Dudley Motor Com¬ 
pany, and of himself as well. The very 
thought of business ruin appalled him. It 
sent a chill through his frame. And yet noth¬ 
ing but ruin could be the outcome if Douglas, 
“that dog,” had effected a business union with 

the Dudley. 

His mind went on in this apprehensive vein 
until it ran itself out. Then came again the 
thought of home. All of a sudden cold beads 
of perspiration formed on his forehead. His 
home! Ruin threatened his business, but had 

[169] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

it not already overtaken his home? For some 
years, home had been but a stopping-place 
for him, bed and board. He tried to think 
when he had last gone anywhere with Felice. 
It was close on to two years. 

He calculated the evenings he had spent at 
home the past year. He could recollect only 
a few, and they were made unpleasant by his 
own impatience and chagrin that he had had 
to stay at home. The last five months he had 
come in and out like a stranger. How had 
Felice ever borne it? He recollected now, 
that for a long time Grace had not welcomed 
him home by her usual kiss and salutation. 
What had gotten into him? How could he 
have been so absolutely absorbed in business? 

Without knowing it, he was making a spir¬ 
itual retreat. For the first time in a long 
while, he was viewing himself in a soul-mir¬ 
ror, and the reflection was not pleasant. Was 
that Jeremiah Burke? He looked again. 
Yes, it was. He had been worshiping the 
Golden Calf, and it had blinded him to all 
else. 

The scales were beginning to fall from his 
eyes. He began to see—not altogether, but 
somewhat. Business still held his sight. Off 

[170] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

went his mind again to the Douglas deal. He 
reflected that about all his money was in 
Dudley stock. If the company went under, 
and it was sure to go if it had signed up with 
Dunham Company, his earnings would be 
swept away, and his position with them. 

If he hadn’t met Stella it would never have 
happened. Association with her had made 
him wrong Felice. In his irritation, he had 
thought the business telegrams were from 
her, and all the disaster resulted in conse¬ 
quence. What a dog he was, anyway, to be 
vexed because his wife was solicitous about 
him. Why shouldn’t she be? He must have 
been crazy to do what he did. 

The fact that he brought on the threatened 
ruin himself, made it worse. There is an ele¬ 
ment of strength and comfort in disaster if a 
man fails while doing his best. But if he has 
been the very guilty cause of his fall! He 
knew he had only himself to blame. 

What right had he, a married man, to take 
up with a stray woman, or any woman? And 
what a complete fool he had made of himself, 
telling her of his intimate life and casting 
aspersions on his wife! Dog, that is what he 

was! No would do it. 

[ 171 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

He now hated himself. He felt very 
small, this big business man. His heart was 
humbled, if not contrite. The pride of posi¬ 
tion was giving way to self-knowledge. He 
was beginning to see himself as he was, and 
Felice as she was. A tear stole down his 
cheek as he looked longingly over the ex¬ 
panse of ocean which reached from him to 
his home. 


[ 172 ] 


Part III 


I 

T he Dudley Motor Company in its 
eagerness to reach Burke, and not 
being able to find him by wire, had 
cabled an officer of the company who was 
stationed in Cuba to go to Kingston and make 
inquiries. This man on arriving at King¬ 
ston went to the hotel where Burke had put 
up, and learned from the clerk that he had 
sailed some days previously for Porto Rico. 
He also learned, from hearsay, that a woman 
accompanied him. He took for granted that 
this woman was his wife. He then cabled 
Porto Rico to try to get into communication 
with him in order to have something definite 
to send to the New York office. Burke was 
then on the high seas, entirely out of reach 
of all communications. 

After doing his best to get more particu¬ 
lars at Kingston, but without success, he de¬ 
cided to send his meager report to the presi- 

[ 173 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

dent of the company. Assuming that the 
woman in question was Mrs. Burke, he tele¬ 
graphed that Burke and his wife had left 
Kingston for Porto Rico several days previ¬ 
ously. 

This cable reached New York about an 
hour after the president of the company, on 
the preceding day, had phoned Felice to ask 
about him. When the president got the wire 
from Jamaica, he concluded that Burke had 
taken his wife with him, and that the Mrs. 
Burke he had talked to on the phone had 
been his mother. 

Accordingly, when, the next morning, 
Felice phoned the office to learn if any word 
had come from Mr. Burke, the president re¬ 
plied: 

^Why, yes, he left Kingston with his wife 
for Porto Rico, but is most likely now on his 
way back.” 

Felice dropped the receiver, which fell 
from its suspended cord. At the same time, 
she uttered a moan so agonizing and loud 
that Grace came running in, to find her 
mother in a heap on the floor. To all her 
questions and looks of inquiry, she received 
only distressing groans and heavy sighs. She 

[ 174 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

was about to run and get help, when her 
mother motioned her not to do so. 

Grace knelt down at her mother’s side, and 
by all the arts of childhood and affectionate 
sympathy of a daughter, tried to soothe her 
mother. Felice gradually gained control of 
herself and arose. She could scarcely stand. 
By an effort she reached the armchair and 
again fell into a state of collapse. 

Poor little Grace was all undone. The 
only thing that kept her from an outburst 
of tears was the effect it would have on her 
mother. For over an hour they sat together, 
not a word uttered. Finally, Felice broke 
the silence. 

^‘Darling dear, it’s just we two now. 
There is no one else. There’s no more 
Daddy.” 

Grace for a moment seemed not to realize. 
Then it broke in upon her mind that her 
father was dead. A hysterical grief seized 
her, which communicated itself to her mother, 
and for a while both gave way to uncontrolled 
grief. 

When it subsided somewhat, Grace said: 
^Ts he, then, dead, mother?” 

“Worse!” 


[ 175 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“Worse than dead, mother! Mother! 
Mother!! Mother!!! What’s the matter 
with you? O mother, mother!” 

“Nothing, dear. Pm all right now. Run 
away now for a while, and leave mother 
alone.” 

“No, no, mother dear. Darling must be 
with mother. Darling must suffer with 
mother. Darling would die, away from 
mother.” 

Felice stooped down, and, taking her child’s 
head in her hands, implanted a long, intense 
kiss on her forehead. The storm was over— 
but not its havoc. It left in its wake great 
human wreckage—two shattered hearts, two 
broken lives, two dark prospects. 

Felice quietly but firmly made up her mind. 
Divorce was out of the question—she knew 
that—but separation remained to her. So this 
was the end of the sacred marriage rites! 
Rebellious feelings awoke in her heart, feel¬ 
ings against God, against religion, against 
everything, and a deep, measureless hatred 
against the man who had betrayed her and 
her child. 

“O God, O God, O God!” 

This cry escaped her a hundred times dur- 

[ 176 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

ing the day. At first she tried to restrain her¬ 
self for her child’s sake, but it was too much. 

In one of her moments of anguish, while 
Grace was near, she suddenly shouted at the 
top of her voice: “Jerry Burke, you’re a mur¬ 
derer, you have the lives of your wife and 
daughter on your hands. Yes, and their 
souls. You’re a Judas, a—” 

Grace flung her arms around her mother’s 
neck to stifle the impending curse. Poor little 
Grace! She was a child yesterday, a woman 
to-day. She rose to her responsibility. 

“Mother, you must not, you must not, 
we’re in God’s hands. If He’s patient, we 
must be so too. Trust God, mother, trust 
God—that’s what you’ve always taught me.” 

Mother fell back into the chair, a helpless 
heap, but the outburst had done her good. 
It was the effort at restraint that had brought 
her nerves to the breaking point. After the 
explosion, she quieted down and became very 
weak. Grace grew alarmed. But soon the 
effect of the unbending of tense nerves 
showed itself, and Felice became herself 
again. She made for her room and threw 
herself dressed on the bed. 

Grace, seeing that she was resting, though 

[ 177 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

not capable of sleeping, closed the door 
gently, hoping that her mother might find a 
little sleep after the wakeful night. By now, 
Grace knew all. Mother had not said a word 
about the nature of the affair, but the child 
had gathered it all from the broken ejacula¬ 
tions of her mother. 

What was she to do? She first opened the 
door quietly to take a peep at mother. 
Gently as she did it, mother heard and turned 
toward her. 

‘‘Can Darling do anything for Dearest?” 

“No, Darling, Pm afraid not.” 

“May Darling stay with Dearest?” 

“Better not. Leave mother now for a 
little.” 

Grace kissed mother over and over, and 
then withdrew, but she took her position close 
to the door, leaving it open a tiny bit. After 
an hour or so, she perceived that her mother 
was sleeping, or at least, breathing heavily. 
Nature was asserting itself. For nearly fifty 
hours, Felice had not closed an eye. She fell 
into a troubled sleep. Grace instructed the 
maid not to disturb her, and then set off to 
the rectory to see Father Boone. 

He was not in when she called. Returning 

[ 178 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

home, she found her mother still sleeping. 
It was now after five o’clock, and Grace hoped 
that her mother would get a good long sleep. 
In this she was disappointed. Before six, she 
heard footsteps in her mother’s room. En¬ 
tering, it seemed to her that her mother had 
aged ten years since yesterday. Also it 
seemed that mother never before loved her 
so much or needed her so much. 

Without fully realizing the mental anguish 
of her mother, the child perceived that it was 
something dreadful. Felice tried hard to 
spare her darling the torture she herself was 
experiencing, but found it impossible to con¬ 
ceal her distress. There seemed to be a tacit 
understanding that neither should refer to 
^^Daddy,” but at times an exclamation would 
fall from one or the other which showed 
where their minds were. 

After Felice had become more or less com¬ 
posed, she sat down near her bureau, and 
began to take out drawer after drawer. 

“You look so strange, mother.” 

Felice for answer kept on sorting papers, 
which she was taking out of the bureau 
drawer. 

“You’re not the same, mother.” 

[ 179 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Felice still kept busy with sorting. 

you don’t talk to Darling, she’ll surely 
cry again, and you forbade me to cry any 
more.” 

Felice looked at her child with eyes of 
tenderness, but with a countenance of deter¬ 
mination. “I’m afraid, darling, it has come 
to the end.” 

“Don’t say that, mother, don’t, don’t,” 
and the tears, in spite of the child, came down 
her cheeks in big drops. 

“It must be, darling. We’ve had no home 
for several years, and no Daddy. It might 
as well end.” 

“Oh, mother, mother, I can’t do it, it will 
kill me, and you too. O mother, just a little 
longer. We’ll surely hear from himj he’s 
not left us, he wouldn’t do that.” 

Felice almost snapped: “He’s done it 
already.” 

“You look so strange, mother.” 

Felice felt stranger than she looked. Her 
whole life and outlook were transformed over 
night. Mechanically she took out various 
things from the drawer, tearing up some 
papers, tossing others aside into the waste 
basket, carefully replacing others. She came 

[ 180 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

to the parcel of stocks which he had given her 
some years before on her birthday. As she 
recollected his remark on that occasion, a 
sickly smile crept over her face. 

Three hours she spent going over papers, 
clothes, books, etc. She began to feel 
fatigued. Sitting down in the big armchair, 
she fell asleep. Grace had already lain down 
on the sofa. 

The sun was full and bright before either 
awoke. Felice was the first to awake. For 
a moment she did not realize where she was, 
or what the situation was. But when her eyes 
fell on her darling lying on the sofa, it all 
came to her in a flash, and with it, a deep sigh, 
which awoke the sleeping child. 

After breakfast, Felice set to work to pack 
up some things and to lock up others. Grace 
was dying to ask what it was for, but feared 
to show her alarm and apprehension. Finally, 
she could contain herself no longer. 

‘‘Dearest, what does it all mean, this pack¬ 
ing and locking?” 

“It’s not our home any more, darling.” 

“What’s Daddy’s is ours, mother.” 

^Was ours, darling.” 

O mother! Mother! Mother!” and the 

[ 181 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

poor child fell unconscious to the floor. 
Felice immediately flew to her and called to 
the maid. Soothingly, she fondled her dar¬ 
ling, and, having administered some smelling 
salts, at length brought her to herself. 

Felice now realized that Grace was under¬ 
going in her own way an agony as great as 
her own. This gave her a grip on herself, 
for she must not be the cause of suffering 
to her darling. Making a strong effort, she 
assumed a composure which she did not feel. 

^^Darling dear, we must be brave. Mother 
is over the worst of it now. The rest will be 
easy.” 

“Mother dear. Pm afraid the rest is the 
hardest.” 

“No, child, be brave, like a good girl. 
Show mother how much you love her.” 

Grace decided to ask no more questions. 
Steering clear of everything concerning 
Daddy, they proceeded with the arrange¬ 
ments for leaving. Grace made up her mind 
never to mention Daddy’s name again before 
mother. That would be hard, for she loved 
her papa. She said to herself that, if he 
were dead, how much better it would be, for 

then she could talk to mother about him. 

[ 182 ] 


II 


J UST before Burke took ship from Ponce 
for New York, he received a telegram 
from the Dudley Motor Company, 
which read as follows: 

‘‘Sorry to hear you were ill. Deal 
with Douglas closed. You must be mis¬ 
taken. Looks good to us. Reorganiza¬ 
tion necessary. Await your return. 

(Signed) “White, Pres.” 

Jerry crushed the telegram in his angry 
hand. He was more than angry. Chagrin, 
mortification, a guilty conscience and a sense 
of retribution overwhelmed him. He recog¬ 
nized that it was more than misfortune, that 
it was chastisement, and deserved chastise¬ 
ment at that. 

But much as he felt this financial disaster, 
and he saw it in all its consequences, there 
was something he dreaded more. What if 
it should become known that he had taken up 
with a chance woman! The very thought of 
it caused a chill to pass over him. True, he 

[ 183 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

had not compromised himself. He had never 
seen her anywhere except in public. But he 
had certainly been indiscreet. His conduct 
could be misconstrued most alarmingly. No 
one would take his word for it that he went 

so far and no farther. 

If Felice should get word of it, it would 
kill her. He could repair financial disaster. 
A character ruined could never be restored. 
The business ruin and the woman affair now 
became a nightmare, by day as well as by 
night. He was tossed from one to the other 
continuously. When the business disaster 
found him weakened and discouraged and un¬ 
able any longer to stand under its frown, the 
woman affair took hold of him and tortured 
him from another side. 

He almost decided never to return to New 
York, but there was the clutch of child and 
home—^yes, and of Felice, for now that he 
saw her in the right perspective, he realized 
that he had done her a great wrong. Not 
only that. He saw also that the very things 
in her which he had condemned were the 
marks of true love, and his heart went out to 
her as it had done in the early days—even 

more. This increased his torture. 

[ 184 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

It was with a heavy heart that he boarded 
the steamer. Day by day his apprehension 
increased as he neared his destination. Be¬ 
tween business worry and the fear of the af¬ 
fair with Stella becoming known, he was un¬ 
able to eat or sleep. Every day saw him 
looking more haggard. 

can weather the business storm, but if 
the affair with Stella gets out, I am wrecked.” 
This he kept saying and thinking all the 
time. ‘‘But I don’t see how it can get out. 
Nobody aboard knew anyone that I know. 
Of course Stella can make trouble for me if 
she locates me and wants to annoy me, but I 
don’t think she’s that kind.” 

Yet, argue as he would and make the best 
defense he was capable of, there was a subtle 
fear that his misconduct would find him out. 

“Oh, what a price I am paying for my 
recklessness!” At such moments, he delib¬ 
erated whether it was not best to cast con¬ 
science and propriety to the winds and brave 
it out. “I know lots of men who wouldn’t 
think a fig of the whole thing, and they stand 
just as well with their fellow men as the best 
of them.” 

But that was only a passing thought, a 

[ 185 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

desperate lunge. In his heart he condemned 
himself, condemned himself more than Fe¬ 
lice would condemn him, although he knew 
she would spare him not at all. He didn’t 
spare himself, now that he was himself. He 
had violated his marriage vows by association 
with a woman other than his wife. And, al¬ 
though there was no intimacy between them, 
that was more the effect of circumstances than 
anything else. 

He shuddered now at what might have 
happened had not that sudden illness over¬ 
taken him and brought him to his senses. It 
was a rude but wholesome shock. How glad 
he was now, that the illness had come in time 
to save him from himself! It was the only 
ray of comfort left him. 

He would be able to swear solemnly that 
he had not been intimate with another woman. 
Not that he condoned his conduct, not at all. 
He branded his indiscretion with iron heated 
white. But he could swear, nevertheless, that 
it did not go to extremes. That was some¬ 
thing. But he hoped it would never get out 
at all. He did not see how it could get out. 
However, such things have a way of getting 

out. He could not ease his mind. 

[ 186 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

He was in a state close to collapse as his 
steamer neared New York. He went to the 
barber shop to get groomed for his appear¬ 
ance before his friends. As he saw his re¬ 
flection in the mirror, he hardly recognized 
himself. No doubt people would attribute 
his looks to his illness. That would furnish 
a good alibi at all events. 

He went to his cabin to try to rest a little 
before the boat docked, but it was useless. 
While adjusting his coat, he felt something 
in his pocket. To his amazement and horror, 
he found it was the telegram to Felice. He 
had forgotten to send it! Realizing how 
much depended on it, he sent it by radio, as 
if from Porto Rico. He had counted on that 
telegram to dispel her alarm and possible 
suspicion. This was a new torture. He car¬ 
ried his hell with him wherever he went. 
The fiends of guilty conscience got busier and 
busier as the time came for him to greet his 
friends. 

Oh, how he longed for the days of his up¬ 
right life, when he could look everyone in 
the face, yes, even God. He had wronged 
the best woman in the world, he had fol¬ 
lowed with guilty purpose a woman of un- 

[ 187 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

certain character. But how God was punish¬ 
ing him! He began to see that God’s way 
was the best way, even leaving out religious 
considerations. But now his religion came 
back to him with renewed power and mean¬ 
ing. All this would never have happened 
had he been true to his Faith. 

So revolving matters, so torturing himself, 
he reached the pier, a sadder but wiser man. 
He had telegraphed the office the time of 
his arrival, and several of his associates were 
there to greet him. 

“Why, what’s the matter with you, old 
man? You must have had a siege of it. It’s 
taken a lot out of you.” This was from the 
assistant manager. 

In a way, Burke was glad that he looked 
so bad to his friends. It would save him a 
lot of explanations—his condition spoke for 
him. 

He had hardly drawn this comfort from 
his plight, when the secretary of the company 
asked: “Where is your wife, Mr. Burke? 
'Shall I go to assist her with anything that 
detains her?” 

It was a good thing that Jerry was very 

pale, for otherwise the shock that this gave 

[ 188 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

him would have been a tell-tale. He could 
hardly turn more pale than he was on leaving 
the ship, but certainly he felt paler. For a 
moment, he was dazed. 

Then turning toward the secretary, he 
said: ‘T beg your pardon?” 

‘‘Your wife, Mr. Burke. We got word 
that you and your wife left together for 
Porto Rico, and I presumed she had returned 
with you.” 

Burke began to totter. His eyes swam. 
Perspiration burst out on his forehead. His 
friends thought it was a symptom of his ill¬ 
ness, and that the excitement had brought on 
a renewal. The secretary quickly put his arm 
round him to keep him from falling. But 
presently he came to, smiling with a sickly 
smile. 

“It’s all right, just a little reaction. Pm 
perfectly able to go with you.” 

“Our cab is just outside,” said one of the 
men, as all of them walked in the direction 
he indicated. The party realized that Burke 
was a sick man, so they did not touch on the 
company’s affairs. 

But Burke! So it was out! The worst 
had happened. How dreadfully he was be- 

[ 189 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

ing punished. Lots of men were doing ten 
times worse than he, and no one ever knew 
it but themselves. The one false step he had 
taken had found him out! O God! But 
was it one false step? For years he had 
been worshiping the Golden Calf, for years 
he had considered only himself, for years he 
was false to his religion, to his fatherhood, 
to his manhood! 

The cab arrived at the company’s office, 
and all alighted. As they entered the private 
office, the president, Mr. White, arose and 
advanced to greet him. But he gasped as he 
saw the haggard man before him. 

‘‘Why, Mr. Burke, you’ve had an awful 

time of it.” 

“Oh, I’m all right. I got a bad shaking 
up, but I’ll surprise you all in a few days.” 

“But you look all in!” 

“Well, you see, I haven’t eaten or slept 
much since I got your wire, and that will 
knock any man into a cocked hat.” 

He said this with so much bravado that it 
gave them assurance that he was simply suf¬ 
fering from a severe shake-up. However, 
they thought that now was no time to dis¬ 
cuss the deal, and after a brief talk, told him 

[ 190 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

that he had better go home and rest up. 
Home! What visions that word conjured 
up! Much as he dreaded it, he would find 
out just how much they knew of the affair 
with Stella. 

“The secretary informed me, Mr. White, 
that my wife was expected with me. There 
must be some mistake. May I ask what it 
means.?” 

“Wasn’t your wife with you, Mr. Burke?” 

“No.” 

“Well, then, we’ve been misinformed. 
We wired you five times without hearing 
from you, and as we were anxious about you, 
we wired our Cuban agent to go to Kingston 
at once and report to us. He wired that Mr. 
Burke and his wife had sailed for Porto Rico 
two days before. Evidently he was misin¬ 
formed, but that is how we got it.” 

Jerry had all he could do to keep from 
collapsing. Still there was one hope, Felice 
did not know of it. 

Appearing as indifferent as possible, he 
asked: “I suppose inquiries came from my 
home about me?” 

“Why, yes, the day you were expected, 
your mother called us up, but I said we had 

[ 191 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

no news.” Great relief for Jerry! The 
president went on: “Next day she called 
again. By that time we had had our wire 
from the agent, and I informed your mother 
that you and your wife had sailed for Porto 
Rico. . . . Why, why, what’s the—? Here, 
Williams, give me a handj he’s fainted. The 
man’s a sick man. There now, that’ll do. 
He’s coming to. Why, Burke, you’re a 
pretty sick man yet. No more business now. 
You just go home. Williams, call my car, 
and you go home with Mr. Burke.” 




[ 192 ] 


Ill 


LTHOUGH Felice had made up her 
mind that it was out of the question 
ever to live with Jerry again, she 
thought she would see Father Boone before 
breaking up the home. Not that anything 
he could say or do would change her mind, 
for now things were past mending, but in 
order to get the sanction of the Church on the 
step she was taking. 

She knew that she was within her rights 
in separating from her husband. Of course 
she knew it was separation, and not divorce. 
She also knew that Father Boone would do 
all in his power to have her forgive and for¬ 
get, but she knew she was beyond that. She 
would talk to him because she must talk to 
someone. She could unburden herself to 
him more completely than to anyone else in 
the world. 

She had a woman’s pride in being able to 
hold the love of her husband, and this she 
did not care to sacrifice. She would tell her 
mother, certainly, but there were things 

[ 193 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

which her pride would not let her tell even 
her. To Father Boone, she could talk as to 
God. There would be no reserve. More¬ 
over, he would make no insinuations that she 
was not all she should be, no womanly chid¬ 
ing, or taunts of unwifely bearing, no sus¬ 
picions that she had driven her husband to 
another woman. 

Accordingly to Father Boone she went. 
When she asked for him at the rectory, she 
was shown to a parlor and told that he was 
out, but that he was expected any minute. 

She was alone with her thoughts. Every 
minute seemed to intensify her grievance. 
This was the very parlor in which Jerry and 
she had made their marriage arrangements. 
It was in this very room that he had told 
her, after signing the documents, that now 
she was his for life, that nothing else mat¬ 
tered. It was after leaving this room, on 
the way home, that he had told her she was 
the most wonderful woman in the world, and 
that he was the most fortunate of men to 
have her for his very own. 

And now, in this same room, she was to 
tell Father Boone that this most fortunate 
man had discarded the most wonderful 

. [ 194 ] 


for better for worse 

woman in the world. She felt like standing 
up and shouting out that no woman should 
marry. If she yielded to her feelings, she 
would have cried out for everyone to hear 
that no man was to be trusted. If Jerry’s 
vows were false, whose could be true! 

It was at this stage of her emotion that 
Father Boone entered. 

^^Good morning, Felice.” 

She scarcely noticed him. As this was not 
characteristic of her, he surmised at once that 
something unusual was on her mind. 

^Well, my child?” 

She made no reply, but looked at him with 
a hard, set face. Neither spoke for a mo¬ 
ment, then Felice, in a defiant voice: 

^^So this is the end of holy matrimony. 
Nuptial Mass and all the rest!” 

The priest saw her emotion, and made 
every allowance. He said nothing. 

“Jerry and I are to separate.” 

Again he said nothing. He knew she came 
to talk, and that the best way was to let her 
do it in her own way. So he just took an 
attitude of attention. It proved the very 
best thing. No questions or exclamations 
coming from him, no surprise or curiosity 

[ 195 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

manifesting itself, she fell into a more or 
less calm recital of the disaster which was 
bringing down their house upon them. She 
talked on for fifteen minutes or more, and 
had then talked herself into a receptive atti¬ 
tude. That was what he wanted. He now 
realized that she was eager for his counsel, 
and that he himself had the facts in the case, 

at least her side of them. 

From experience, he knew there were two 
sides to everything, so he proceeded cau¬ 
tiously. 

“Pm awfully sorry for you, Felice, but 
Pm more sorry for Jerry.” 

“Why sorry for Jerry?” 

“Well, iPs this way. You have a burden 
to carry, and a heavy one. It’s going to be 
a hard way of the cross for you. But you 
have right on your side to help you bear it. 
That is going to give you strength and com¬ 
fort. But Jerry! His way of the cross is 
coming, but instead of having right on his 
side to help him carry his burden, he will 
have the consciousness of guilt pressing down 
on him and making the burden a desperate 
and crushing weight. Your path conducts 

you to the heights, his to the very lowest 

[ 196 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

depths. That’s why I am sorry for you, but 
more sorry for Jerry.” 

‘‘Well, it’s his doing.” 

“Of course, and that’s why I pity him. 
The awakening will come, and then will be 
the devil’s hour.” 

“You certainly don’t expect me to live with 
him again?” 

“Did I say I did, Felice?” 

“No, but there is something about the way 
you put it that seems to make an appeal to 
my sympathy.” 

“He needs all the pity he can get, I am 
afraid. When he comes to himself from this 
adventure, he will have a veritable hell, for 
he will know he has wronged a good 
woman.” 

“But don’t you think I am right. Father, 
in going away with Grace to mother?” 

“That’s another question. You see, I am 
taking for granted that your side of the mat¬ 
ter is just as you say. Don’t pout now. I’m 
not saying you’re not right, from your view¬ 
point, but there are two sides to everything. 
After all, your position rests on a casual re¬ 
port which came with all the haste of a ca¬ 
blegram.” 


[ 197 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

^‘That’s only the last straw, Father. It 
fits in with all that went before. Pm not 
looking for evidence against him. Pve borne 
too much not to bear more. But why did 
he leave so suddenly, why did he not tele¬ 
graph me, why did he go to Porto Rico, why 
did he'keep his whereabouts from the com¬ 
pany, why were they interested in saying he 
was with his wife?” 

grant you, Felice, it all looks bad. IPs 
a case which I do not like to touch. If you 
want my advice, Pll give it.” 

“Well?” 

“You are a Catholic. You took him for 
better, for worse. He is a man with a man’s 
weaknesses. He has done you grievous 
wrong. You are justified in separating from 
him. The Church allows it when a man has 
been false to his marriage vows. To live 
with a man under such circumstances is to 
most women intolerable. 

“But, Felice, knowing Jerry as I do, and 
knowing you, I advise patience. If things 
are just as you say they are, you will lose 
nothing by waiting. If they are not, you will 
gain everything. For, after all, a woman’s 

home is her very life.” 

[ 198 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“Yes, if it is a home.” 

“Well, now, you have my advice. Of 
course, before you can have a formal separa¬ 
tion, it will be necessary to have an ecclesi¬ 
astical decision in the matter. But if it be a 
private separation, that is your own affair. 
It rests with you whether you are to live with 
him or away from him. But as a Catholic 
priest speaking to a child of Holy Mother 
Church, I advise you to take this as one of 
the crosses of life, your great cross, and to 
carry it patiently for love of Him who car¬ 
ried a heavier cross for love of you. We all 
have our cross of one kind or another. This 
is yours. Are you going to leave off follow¬ 
ing the Master because it is painful? A sol¬ 
dier shows his loyalty not on parade, but on 
the field of battle.” 

“But even a soldier has to give up some¬ 
times.” 

“In human warfare, yes. But not when 
fighting for Christ, and with Him as Leader. 
He wants us to be valiant unto the end, even 
if the end be death. ‘He who loses his life 
for My sake, shall find it.’ Don’t lose sight 
of that, Felice. We have not here a lasting 
city. Our real home is beyond. And often 

[ 199 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

it is the cross that raises us up from earth to 
heaven.” 

“And it sometimes weighs us down to the 
other place.” 

“Only when we turn our eyes away from 
Christ.” 

“Oh, what you say is all so true, but I 
am so weak. Father, have pity on me. I am 
in rebellion against God and myself and 
everything. Do not ask me to live with 
him.” 

“Of course, my child, if there is positive 
repugnance, and you feel that living with him 
would engender hatred, it is better to live 
apart than to live in sin.” 

“In that case, it is away from him. The 
very sight of him is unthinkable.” 

“But there is Grace.” 

“She, too, loathes him.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive.” 

“I have no more to say, except to tell you 
that I shall pray for both of you. You need 
help from above in your dreadful anguish, 
he needs light and strength to turn aside from 
a path which is hurrying him over a preci¬ 
pice. God help him!” 

[ 200 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“Oh, Father, it’s dreadful, no matter how 
you look at it.” 

“Very dreadful, my child.” 

“But, Father, how can a man do what 
Jerry has done? How can he, who worshiped 
me, who loved the very ground I walked on, 
who lavished so much affection on me, who 
over and over again said he could bear every 
loss but the loss of me, how—” 

“If you will be calm, Felice, Pll talk with 
you. Everything has its explanation. So 
has this. Mark, I do not say justification, 
but explanation. You can explain murder 
without justifying it.” 

“I can see no explanation for Jerry’s do¬ 
ing.” 

“True, you have been a good wife. You 
are in every way the woman that a man 
should be happy with and proud of. When 
you took Jerry, you might have had the hand 
of any man in the parish. And when he won 
your heart, he was the happiest man I ever 
knew. But human nature is human nature. 
It is fickle, it is selfish. Even love is a phase 
of selfishness. If you remember, I told you 
before you were married that the Church’s 
ordinances on marriage were for your wel¬ 
fare.” 


[ 201 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

‘‘Indeed, Pve often recalled that, espe¬ 
cially of late.” 

“It’s this way. Man and woman both 
idealize one another before marriage. The 
intimacy and familiarity of married life are 
apt to dispel the ideal. Soon they see each 
other as ordinary mortals. 

“Few girls fall in love with their brothers. 
A girl often wonders what it is that other 
girls see in her brother. And often a young 
fellow wonders why a fellow is crazy over 
his sister. Pve heard fellows say of their 
sister: ‘I pity the fellow who gets her’; and 
Pve heard girls say of their brother: ‘I pity 
the girl who gets him.’ Yet both had ad¬ 
mirers and sweethearts. 

“After a while man and wife are apt to 
view each other much the same as brother and 
sister do. Then is the critical time. If they 
prove to be congenial to each other, their first 
love, although it loses in intensity, gains in 
depth. If they should not be naturally con¬ 
genial, they get to merely tolerate each 
other.” 

“How in the name of heaven do you know 
so much about it?” 

“Never mind me, but what Pm saying. 

[ 202 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


Besides what Pve already said, there’s some¬ 
thing else to consider. Even when husband 
and wife are congenial, either one may be¬ 
come so absorbed in outside matters as virtu¬ 
ally to put a wall between them. A woman 
may be so- taken up with society or amuse¬ 
ment as to neglect the home and antagonize 
her husband. And a man may be so wedded 
to business or sport, or his club, as to neglect 
the home and absolutely estrange his wife. 
Business infatuation has ruined many homes. 
I need not inform you of that, Felice.” 
know it only too well. Father.” 

^‘You have, then, this situation, a home and 
children. Husband and wife may or may 
not be in love with each other. If divorce 
with re-marriage is permissible, every little 
difference will be accentuated, with the result 
that the mother of a family may be aban¬ 
doned for some new face which has caught a 
man’s fancy. 

“If divorce with re-marriage is not al¬ 
lowed, the man settles down to reality, meets 
and overcomes obstacles, the family is held 
together, and eventually the old love re¬ 
vives, in another form it is true, but in a 
way which makes husband and wife peaceful 

[ 203 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

and happy and indispensable to each other. 

“If divorce were allowed, it would mean 
first of all a broken home, and secondly, an¬ 
other broken home, for if a man is not true 
to his first love, he won’t ordinarily be true 
to his second. The family is the basis of 
society, and for the welfare of society Cath¬ 
olic marriage is the firmest support.” 

“Do you mean. Father, that I should stick 
to Jerry?” 

“In the name of God, I do. It may mean 
his salvation. This may have taught him a 
lesson and opened his eyes. God has given 
you many a chance. He asks you now to 
give Jerry a chance.” 

“But that’s what I’ve been doing all 
along.” 

“And God will bless you for it. In His 
own time and way He will bring good out of 
evil, if you do your part. Remember always 
that there is the soul to save. ‘What does it 
profit to gain the whole world and lose the 
soul. ” 

“But how about incompatibility?” 

“Incompatibility is a mania. It is a new 
fancy disease which is eating out the core of 
family welfare. Incompatibility may be cul- 

[ 204 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

tivated, as may every ailment. In the old 
days, we heard little of incompatibility. Man 
and wife had their differences and made up. 
Difficulties were expected. In every family 
they abound, more or less. But it is wonder¬ 
ful how quickly incompatibility develops if a 
man is caught by a new and pretty face.” 

^^Don’t you believe in the reality of in¬ 
compatibility?” 

“Of course I do, child, but I also believe 
in Christian patience. There’s lots of incom¬ 
patibility in business and society, but people 
don’t break with either. They exercise pa¬ 
tience and tact. The family is more than 
business or society.” 

“But, Father, there’s a limit.” 

“Precisely, and there are exceptions. I am 
speaking of the usual and the ordinary. You 
know, Felice, we humans are odd creatures. 
Novelty is craved by us. We want the latest 
news and to see the newest sights and to have 
the latest style. This desire for novelty and 
change explains a whole lot in men and 
women. They often wonder after mar¬ 
riage what there was in the other to attract 
them. That’s why such an essential factor in 
human welfare as the family should not be 

[ 205 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

left to caprice, and that’s why the Church 
stabilizes marriage.” 

“I agree with all you say, but it does not 

apply to a case like mine.” 

“As I said, there are exceptions. The 
Church is a mother. She does all in her 
power to have her children live together in 
harmony, or at least in mutual forbearance. 
If this be impossible, she prefers separation 
to sin, for sin would be the outcome of living 
together in hatred. 

“At the same time, she forbids re-mar¬ 
riage. The result is that frequently separa¬ 
tion opens the eyes of both parties, and they 
come together again and live harmoniously. 
Whereas divorce with re-marriage eventually 
makes both parties miserable and a menace to 
society.” 

“With the feeling in my heart. Father, I 
could not live under the same roof with 
Jerry.” 

“That is between you and God. I have 
put the matter before you. The decision rests 
with yourself.” 

“It’s killing me to do it, but I cannot live 
with him.” She burst into tears and trem¬ 
bled with emotion. 


[ 206 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

He sat silent until she regained her com¬ 
posure, and then said: ‘‘Do what you think 
is right, and pray. I, too, shall pray for you. 
And now, good morning.” 


[ 207 ] 


IV 


I N THE car, Jerry was like a man going 
to execution. As it neared his home, 
the beads of perspiration stood out on 
his brow. 

Summoning all his strength, he said to 
Williams—it was his first word since they 
had started—‘^Drive me to St. Leonard’s rec¬ 
tory first.” 

He gave the directions to Williams, who 
instructed the chauffeur accordingly. Almost 
in a stupor, he walked up the steps and rang 
the bell, asking for Father Boone. He was 
shown into a parlor. Presently Father Boone 
entered. 

^^Jerry!” 

No response. 

Jerry Burke!” 

Just a limp figure with hanging head. The 
priest stepped over to him. Could he believe 
his eyes! The last time he had seen Jerry was 
some two months ago, when he looked every 

inch a man. But this was no man—it was but 

[ 208 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

a figure of a man. At once he realized that 
nothing but a human earthquake could so 
shatter and alter the being before him. He 
brought his chair alongside Jerry’s, and put 
his hand on his shoulder. 

“Well, Jerry boy?” 

It was said with all the tenderness of a 
woman and the strength of a man. Jerry 
looked up at him with face drawn and pale, 
beads of sweat on his brow. 

Father Boone took his hand, patted it, and 
said: “Well, Jerry?” 

The manner of the priest, the strong sym¬ 
pathy of his voice, put heart into the cul¬ 
prit. After a few difficult starts, he told 
Father Boone everything just as it had hap¬ 
pened from the time he left New York until 
he returned. The telling was a tonic. It not 
only got rid of a bad load,, but it also sent 
a stream of strength through his veins, and he 
knew that wise words would come from the 
priest, even if they should be accompanied by 
sharp words. But there were no sharp words. 
The priest saw the broken spirit of the man 
and remembered his Master’s kindness to sin¬ 
ners, although He hated sin. 

“It will come out all right, Jerry. Of 

[ 209 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

course the worst of it is that wife story which 
Felice got. That’s something which no 
woman can condone. But I’ll see what can 
be done. I think I can promise you that it 
will come out all right. I advise you not to 
go home now. Put up at a hotel until you 

hear from me.” 

He saw Jerry to the door^ and then made 

ready to go to see Felice. 

Jerry, after leaving Father Boone, took a 
cab for a private hospital. He knew that a 
hotel was no place for one in his condition. 
The relief he got from his talk with Father 
Boone braced him considerably. Still the un¬ 
certainty as to how Felice would act in the 
matter brought on a nervous state which so 
affected him that he could neither eat nor 
sleep. He felt the need of medical treat¬ 
ment. Constitutionally he was all right. 
Business exasperation, and, on top of that, a 
realization of what an egregious fool he had 
been in the affair with Stella, had simply 
wrought havoc with his nerves. 

At the offices of the Dudley Motor Com¬ 
pany there was a good deal of concern for 
Burke. The president, Mr. White, believed 

[ 210 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


that the trouble .with him was caused by his 
fear that the absorption of the Dunham Car 
Company had ruined the firm. 

In point of fact, there was no ground for 
fear. Burke’s dread was based on a telegram 
which came to him by misdirection. It was 
addressed to Douglas, but the envelope direc¬ 
tion was to Burke. It happened that several 
concerns were actually desirous of combining 
with the Dunham Company, and one of them, 
anticipating that the Dudley Company would 
succeed, had sent the following telegram to 
Douglas, apparently, but intended for Burke, 
the manager of Dudley. 

“The bottom has fallen out of the X 
deal. Cover up as best you can. Try 
to tie up with Dudley. Otherwise we 
are ruined. 

(Signed) “Norris.” 

This telegram came into Burke’s hands the 
morning of the day he sailed for Jamaica. 
In his haste, he forgot to leave a memo about 
it, with the result that, when he received the 
neglected telegrams from his company, he 
believed that it was pulled down to ruin with 
the Dunham. 


[ 211 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

By accident, White came across this tele¬ 
gram an hour or so after Jerry left with Wil¬ 
liams to go home. Douglas happening in 
shortly after, White showed him the tele¬ 
gram. Douglas grew purple with rage. 

“That explains Burke’s turning against me. 
No wonder. It was a damnable device. I 
think I know its source.” 

He put on his hat hurriedly, and left the 
office in high dudgeon. 

In point of fact, the merger was a good 
thing. White felt that if Burke knew the 
facts, it would help him more than anything 
else to get on his feet. 

As soon as Jerry was comfortably placed 
in the hospital, he phoned his business office 
where he was. A few hours later, he was 
surprised to see Mr. White enter his room. 
The president sat down and talked on indif¬ 
ferent things for a while, and then came to 
the point. When he had explained every¬ 
thing, Burke emitted a heavy sigh. 

“Thank God, I was mistaken! ” 

He brightened up at once. A big load was 
off his mind. 

Mr. White noticed the color which came 

to his face as he said: “I thank you, White, 

[ 212 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

for coming to tell me this. Pm a new man 
already.” 

They talked a little longer, and then the 
president withdrew. Time was when nothing 
else would have mattered to Jerry. Business 
had been everything to him. That time was 
passed. Much as he was interested in busi¬ 
ness, he had rather here and now, as far as 
he was concerned, see the whole business go 
to smash than have this unfortunate affair of 
Felice’s estrangement impending. 

The more he reflected on the matter, the 
more it seemed impossible of adjustment. 
He went over in detail the years of home 
neglect. Felice had borne it all with heroic 
patience. She had done so under the firm 
conviction that she was the only woman in his 
life. And that was true until this horrible 
nightmare of the trip. 

It was true now. It was true always. Yes, 
even on the trip it was true. He was not 
himself, and that siren knew it, and that is 
why she played on his feelings. What a 
goose he had been! Now he knew another 
aspect of woman. The “vamp” had been a 
myth to him before. Now he knew differ¬ 
ently. But was it too late? Was his life and 

[ 213 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Felice’s to be wrecked for the indiscretion of 

a few thoughtless days? 

Oh, if Felice would only give him another 
chance! The very name, Felice, was a lie in 
her case. Felice, he reflected, signified haffyy 
but how unhappy he had made her! All 
these years he had been wedded to business 
rather than to her. Oh, if she would only 
give him another chance! He reviewed all 
her charming qualities, which now stood out 
prominently, and he had been blind to them 
all! Nothing but business, business, busi¬ 
ness. And it was business that had punished 
him. Oh, for another chance! 

And there was Grace. His neglect of her 
now burned into his soul. The dear! Oh, 
for another chance! Oh, for another chance! 
Even if Felice rejected him, he would try 
to win her again. Thank God, there was no 
such thing as divorce to take her from him. 
She might go away from him, but no other 
man would get her. What a blessed thing 
Catholic marriage was, after all. Until 
death do us part! 

Felice was loved by everybody. He was 
considered so lucky to win her hand. If she 
wanted to, she could easily have another 

[ 214 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 


lover, another husband to take his place. 
But, thank God, she was a good Catholic, 
something he was not. She would never 
marry another while he lived. But give him 
another chance! 

Another chance or not, he would get back 
to the practice of his religion. He saw now 
the meaning of it all, the truth, the beauty, 
the advantage of his Faith. He got up from 
his bed and knelt down, as he did when a 
child, and poured out his soul to God. Long 
he prayed, intensely he prayed. As the peni¬ 
tent of old experienced, so did he find that 
^^A humble and contrite heart, O Lord, Thou 
wilt not reject.” 


[ 215 ] 


V 


W HEN Felice, after the interview 
with Father Boone, had packed 
up the things she wanted, and 
locked up other things she did not care to 
remove, she informed Grace that they were 
to go to Grandmother’s. 

‘‘And are we to leave home for good?” 
“We’re going home, darling.” 

“O mother, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t! I 
can’t leave Daddy’s home. O mother, it 
can’t be true. There must be a mistake. 
Daddy’s not a bad Daddy. O Mumma! 
Mumma! I Mumma!!!” 

The child fell into her mother’s arms, sob¬ 
bing and shaking. The little one had given 
expression to what was in the mother’s heart. 
Oh, if it were only possible that Darling was 
right! Her thoughts were working like 
lightning. Perhaps there was a mistake. 
But no, he was away overtime. He had sent 
no word. He was traveling with a woman. 
Perhaps this woman, and not business, was 

L 216 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

the reason of his frequent absences and of his 
coldness toward his home. Her woman’s na¬ 
ture, however, sought some, even a slight, de¬ 
fense of the man she really loved. She was 
eager for some evidence which would save his 
honor and her happiness. 

For a while longer she must remain. She 
could not take Grace out in her present con¬ 
dition. Yet, as an outraged wife, she could 
not bear to live in the same house which his 
presence had filled. Oh, if something would 
prove him true to her! 

She removed her wraps, and laid Darling 
on the sofa. The child’s heart was breaking 
with sobs and ejaculations. 

‘^Oh, don’t, mother, don’t. He’s not a 
bad Daddy. You’ll kill Darling. Dearest 
mother, don’t, don’t go!” 

“All right, darling, mother won’t go now.” 

“Never, Mumma dear, never. Oh, do tell 
Darling you’ll stay,” and off she went into 
hysterical sobs. 

It broke the awful strain for Felice. The 
going had well-nigh caused her own collapse. 
She felt it more than Grace, but had 
brought her woman’s determination to her 
aid. But it had been a terrible struggle. She 

[ 217 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

now gave all her attention to Darling, and 
gradually quieted her. 

She had hardly done so when the bell rang. 
Answering it, she was met by a Postal Tele¬ 
graph messenger. He handed her a tele¬ 
gram, which she almost grabbed from him in 
her tense state of mind. She tore it open 
while returning to the drawing-room. It was 
Jerry’s wire from Porto Rico, which had been 
delayed until now. 

“All right now. Ill a week. Leave 
for New York within a week. 

(Signed) “Jeremiah.” 

A hysterical laugh rang out through the 
room, then a pause. Again that awful laugh 
—another pause. Grace stood in great won¬ 
derment. She had never seen anything like 
that before. While she hesitated what to say 
or do, she heard her mother cry out: 

“O God! O God!! OGod!!! Jerry! 
Jerry!! Jerry!!! My Jerry, my Jerry—my 
—Jer—” and a flood of tears drowned her 
voice. 

For a long time she gave way to her emo¬ 
tion. There was something about it that made 

[ 218 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Grace cheerful rather than sad. The way 
she kept on saying: “Jerry! My Jerry! My 
dear Jerry!” and the joy in her eyes as she 
said it, all this made the child feel that there 
was good news in the telegram. Grace had 
not seen it, for Felice had buried it in her 
bosom, and was holding it tight, as if it were 
a life line. 

Really loving Jerry, this message gave her 
a possible explanation of the situation. By 
the date on the telegram it should have 
reached her some days before. This delay 
and the thought that the woman might have 
been a nurse put a better aspect on the mat¬ 
ter. Father Boone had said that there were 
two sides to everything, and that patience 
solved many difficulties. 

In some strange way her heart found great 
comfort in the message, and also in the as¬ 
surance that Jerry was true to her. It was 
woman’s instinct, often so much truer than 
reason. She would not doubt him. 

All this flashed through her mind in a 
second. By degrees the tempest in her soul 
subsided and the sun began to peer through 
the vanishing clouds. Soon it burst out in all 

[ 219 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

its brightness. With eyes that were glad¬ 
some j and a smile that was love and lights 
Felice folded Grace to her heart, saying: 
“This is our home now, darling!” 


[ 220 ] 


VI 


F THER BOONE found Felice at 
home, for which he was thankful. 
It was the day after the receipt of the 
telegram from Jerry, and she had altogether 
recovered from her paroxysm of grief and 
joy. Both she and Grace had renewed all 
their preparations for the return of “Daddy.” 

She had intended going over to see Father 
Boone, but kept putting it off under pressure 
of preparing for Jerry’s return. She was now 
genuinely glad to see him. 

“Good morning. Father.” 

The priest was surprised to see her changed 
appearance. Her face was one big smile as 
she greeted him. 

She observed his surprise and pleasure, and 
proceeded: “You’re astonished. No wonder. 
Sit down, and I’ll tell you.” 

Going to her desk, she brought out the tele¬ 
gram. It was worded just as Jerry had told 
him he had worded it. This convinced the 
priest that Jerry was sincere and accurate in 
his narrative to him. 

[ 221 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

^‘That puts a different construction on 
things, doesn’t it, Father?” 

‘^Altogether,” he replied, being delighted 
that Felice was well-minded toward Jerry. 

He saw that the hardest part of his mission 
was over. There was question in his mind 
whether he should inform her of what Jerry 
had narrated to him. What one does not 
know, one does not worry over. At the same 
time he realized that such things have a way 
of their own of getting out. If she should 
hear the facts from someone besides Jerry, 
it would cast ugly suspicion on him, and per¬ 
haps cause an irreparable estrangement. 

It would be hard for Jerry to tell his wife 
what he had told him. As a priest, he could 
tell everything to Felice as no one else could. 
She would feel hurt at first, no doubt, but 
when she should learn all, her woman’s heart 
would go out stronger than ever to the man 
she loved. 

“Where is Grace, Felice?” 

“At school. Father. I thought it best not 
to keep her home, as I do not know just when 
he’s coming, and besides, to tell the truth, 
I prefer not to have anyone around when I 

[ 222 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

see him, because I am sure I shall make a 
fool of myself.” 

She had to stop for emotion. The priest, 
seeing that she was thoroughly in accord with 
her husband, and realizing what a load it 
would lift from Jerry’s mind to know that 
his wife had the facts without his having to 
tell them himself, decided to acquaint her 
with them as tactfully as possible. Of course 
it implied that Jerry was already in town, but 
when Felice should learn that his hesitation 
in coming direct to her was because of his 
remorse for what he had done, it would make 
her all the more ready to forgive and forget. 

‘T’ve seen Jerry.” 

^‘You’ve seen Jerry!” 

“It’s good news I’ve got. Don’t be 
alarmed. It’s very good news. Jerry’ll be 
along soon. I’ve got ahead of him, that’s all. 
Just as soon as he finishes up a little matter, 
he’ll be here.” 

Felice fancied that Father Boone had met 
him at the pier or down-town, and that Jerry 
went direct to the office to report before com¬ 
ing home. Thoroughly disarmed, she 
awaited with composure further information. 

[ 223 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“Yes, I had quite a little talk with him. 
He told me all about his trip and his illness.” 

Felice, somewhat agitated, said: “Was it 
very serious?” 

“It was acute—a bad bilious attack, super¬ 
induced by nervousness and bad reports of the 
business in his absence. The poor fellow had 
an awful shaking up. It was violent while it 
lasted. He is over it now, but it has left him 
pretty weak.” 

“Oh, the dear boy! But Grace and I shall 
soon bring him round, Pm sure.” 

“He must have been all on edge when he 
left for the trip.” 

“Pm sure he was. Why, he didn’t even 
come to say good-bye. He got the notion all 
of a sudden, and was off at once.” 

“He was all unstrung.” 

“The dear boy!” 

Father Boone now began the story. He 
told everything exactly as it was. To his 
amazement, all of Felice’s resentment went 
out, not against Jerry, but against “that vile 
woman.” As he was telling the incidents of 
Stella’s showing the press notices and of scold¬ 
ing “the naughty sun,” Felice could scarcely 
restrain herself. 


[ 224 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

‘^Oh, the horrid creature! If I could tell 
her to her face what she is! Poor innocent 
Jerry! What a trap she laid for him, the 
dear boy!” 

After that, the rest was easy for Father 
Boone. Jerry was no longer a culprit, but a 
victim. As the priest told of the telegrams 
and of the illness which followed, and of the 
repentance of Jerry, and his loneliness as he 
sat on the beach at Porto Rico, the tears came 
rolling down the cheeks of Felice, and little 
sobs of sympathy and joy escaped from her 
lips. It was so comforting to know that he 
missed her, that he wanted her, that he needed 
her. When Father Boone told of the dejec¬ 
tion of Jerry and his pitiable appearance 
when he came to the rectory, Felice was al¬ 
most overcome. 

The narration over, he rose to depart. As 
he was about to go, little Grace came running 
in. She first ran to mother and threw her 
arms about her. The child imagined from 
the presence of the priest and the crying of 
her mother that there was bad news of her 

father’s illness. 

But the joy which quickly overspread 
mother’s face dispelled that fear, as she whis- 

[ 225 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

pered: ‘‘Daddy’s here, darling, and we’ll see 
him to-day.” 

“O mother!” and she clapped her hands 
and raised her eyes aloft. 

Then, reflecting that they were not alone, 
she approached Father Boone, apologizing: 
“Beg pardon. Father, but it’s such a strain. 
We’ve been looking for Daddy every day, 
and I was afraid it was bad news when I saw 
mother in tears, and you standing by.” 

“No, it’s very good news, Grace. Your 
papa’s in town, and you’ll see him soon.” 

“O Mumma, Mumma dear, Daddy’s 
home! Dry your eyes, Mummaj Daddy 
mustn’t see you crying.” 

Father Boone, seeing the sacredness of the 
situation, hastily said adieu and went out. 


[ 226 ] 


VII 


O N HIS return to the rectory, Father 
Boone^s first thought was to com¬ 
municate with Jerry. He rang up 
several hotels which he knew Jerry fre¬ 
quented, but could get no word. Then he 
thought of his business office. It was after 
five, but he phoned. No reply. He made 
up his mind to wait until next morning and 
phone the office again. But the news he had 
for Jerry was so good, it would have such a 
good effect on him, that he hated to put it off. 
However, there was nothing else to do. 

Meanwhile, a few moments after he had 
left Felice, she, impatient now of every min¬ 
ute’s delay, could not restrain her desire to 
have a word with Jerry. Thinking he was 
at the office, she called him up. Mr. White 
had just returned from the hospital. His 
secretary announced that Mrs. Burke was on 
the phone, to speak to her husband. 

^^Connect me with Mrs. Burke, 
please. . . . 

^‘Mrs. Burke.?” 


[ 227 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

Felice did not know the speaker. “Yes, 
Mrs. Burke. Give me Mr. Burke, please.” 

“Mrs. Burke, this is Mr. White, the presi¬ 
dent of the company. I was just talking with 
Mr. Burke, and gave him some good news. 
He was worried awfully about a matter which 
was all a mistake. He is—” 

“I thank you, Mr. White, but please give 
me Mr. Burke. I must speak to him.” 

“He’s not in just now.” 

At this reply, Felice felt certain that Jerry 
was on his way home, and her heart jumped 
for joy. 

While she hesitated for a moment, Mr. 
White continued: “You see, when he arrived, 
he was very much annoyed about the busi¬ 
ness, and was quite unstrung. The fact is, 
he was rather ill. He did not care to let you 
see him looking that way, so he’s resting up 
for the day at the hospital. He’ll be all 
right to-morrow.” 

“Where is he?” 

“At the Pemberton Hospital.” 

“Thank you, Mr. White. Good-bye.” 

Jerry in a hospital! Resting up for a day! 
Her Jerry ill! He was just a big boy, a 
foolish big boy. What he needed was not 

[ 228 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

doctors or nurses, but a wife’s devoted care. 
Her first thought was to phone the Pember¬ 
ton and inquire into his condition. No, that 
would not do. If he was suffering from 
nerves, that would make him worse. 

She knew it was not business that had put 
him in his present condition. He had met 
and surmounted many business obstacles. 
Often he had turned commercial defeat into 
victory. He could stand reverses. But there 
was one thing he could not stand. She knew. 
In some things, he was just a baby, a big 
baby. With all his standing in the financial 
world, he was nevertheless a timid, shy crea¬ 
ture. He had made a mistake, a big mis¬ 
take, but he was only human. He was suf¬ 
fering for it, paying an awful tax on his folly, 
poor boy. 

Meanwhile, she was putting on her wraps, 
and had told Grace to phone for the car. 
She had not said a word to the child about 
what had transpired over the phone, nor had 
she hinted to her of the details of her fa¬ 
ther’s trip. As far as Grace knew, the tele¬ 
gram stating that her father was ill covered 
everything and banished every other surmise. 

^‘Now, darling, mother must go out on im- 

[ 229 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

portant business. You are not to leave under 
any circumstances until I return.” 

Hurrying to the car, she gave orders to the 
chauffeur, and was soon speeding to where her 
thoughts had already flown. Arrived at the 
hospital, she stated who she was, and asked 
to be shown to Mr. Burke^s room. 

‘‘He’s just fallen asleep. Madam. Of 
course you can go to him if you wish, but he 
has not slept for several days, and it’s the 
thing he needs most.” 

“Please show me to himj I’ll not disturb 
him.” 

The man accompanied her to the elevator, 
and presently she found herself at the door 
of Jerry’s room. 

“Is it open?” 

“Yes, Madam.” 

“Well, leave me here, please 5 I’ll enter 
quietly.” 

Oh, such beating of the heart, such a storm 
of emotions in her heaving breast! Her 
breathing was so loud, she feared he would 
hear it. She could not count on herself. 
Withdrawing a little down the corridor, she 
gave way to her pent-up emotion. So he was 
in there, so near, her Jerry! 

[ 230 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

“O God, forgive me, but Pm glad he’s ill. 
He needs me. I can do something for him. 
Oh, my Jerry, my Jerry!” 

For fully an hour she tip-toed up and 
down the corridor, trying to control her feel¬ 
ings. At last a calm came. She felt that 
she could enter his room and not upset him. 
Gently she opened the door, quietly she 
stepped inside. She was afraid to look up or 
around. The sight of him might start an 
exclamation which would awaken him. 

She saw his hat and coat on a rack near her. 
She caught the coat in her arms and did her 
best to suppress her agitation. She smoth¬ 
ered her face in it to deaden the sound of 
breathing. He must not hear her, but she 
must not look at him. 

Taking his coat in her arms, holding it 
against her face to suppress any sound that 
might involuntarily issue from her, she made 
her way to a chair at the farthest end of the 
room. It was a large room. The bed was 
at the extreme end opposite to where she sat. 
After a time, she trusted herself to peep in 
that direction. She could hear his heavy 
breathing, for it was his first real sleep in 
three days. 


[ 231 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

By degrees she felt master of her emotion, 
and at length ventured to approach him. 
Stealthily she edged up to where he lay. His 
face was turned from her. She was glad of 
that. Long, deep breaths showed that he was 
in the fastness of sleep. Without touching 
him, without disturbing him, she arranged 
this and that as only a woman can do. Then 
she brought her chair alongside his bed, and 
took her post there. 

Two hours passed, three, four. She fell 
asleep herself, but only as a woman sleeps 
who watches tenderly over one she loves. 
Every now and then she awoke with a start. 
Always he was sleeping. Suddenly she awoke 
fully. She heard a moan, then words: 

God, another chance, another chance. 
Give me another chance to show her how 
much I love her, my Felice! Felice! 
Felice!” 

She was like one in a dream. It was years 
since he had spoken her name so tenderly, so 
lovingly. She would have gone through all 
her agony again, yes and more, for the thrill 
which his voice sent through her as he 
lingered lovingly on her name. The last 
“Felice” had hardly died away when, unable 

[ 232 ] 


FOR BETTER FOR WORSE 

longer to restrain her motion, she burst out 
in one rapturous: 

“Jerry!” 

As she ejaculated his name, she fell for¬ 
ward on his reclining form. For a moment 
he was mystified. That voice and name 
startled him. It was like a charge of elec¬ 
tricity shooting through his body. And it 
had the same effect. At the same time, he 
felt her trembling form as she gave free rein 
to her feelings, now impossible of control. 

Suddenly she raised herself, and giving 
him an intense look of love, enfolded him in 
her arms. Big tears of joy and relief welled 
from his eyes and fell down his cheeks, as he 
heard her saying repeatedly: 

“My Jerry! My dear Jerry! My dear 
boy Jerry!” 

Finally, he caught his breath, and, bending 
low, breathed into her ear over and over 
again, in tones which made her realize what 
heaven must be: 

“Felice! Felice! Felice!” 


Printed by Benziger Brothers, New York 


[ 233 ] 


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4 


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